Chapter 14 Chapter Six Hundreds of Visitors

Dr. Manette's quiet apartment was in a quiet corner not far from Soho Square.Four months have passed since the treason trial, and public interest and memory has flowed into the ocean.One fine Sunday afternoon, Mr. Jarvis Lorry set out from Clerkenwell, where he lived, along the sunlit streets, on his way to supper at Dr. Manette's.After repeated business contacts, Mr. Lorry had become the doctor's friend, and the quiet street corner had become a sunny and peaceful element of his life. It was a fine Sunday afternoon, and Mr. Lorry was on his way to Soho early.Here are three reasons for the habit.First of all, he often goes for a walk with the doctor and Lucy before dinner on sunny Sundays; secondly, on Sundays when the weather is bad, he is used to chatting, reading, and looking out the window with them as a friend of the family Thirdly, he has a delicate mind and often has little doubts, and he knows that according to the doctor's way of life, Sunday afternoon is the time to solve these problems.

It is hard to find a street corner in London more unique than the doctor's quarters.There is no street through it, and the view from the front window of the house has a small landscape, which has an elegant taste away from the world, which is refreshing.At that time, there were few houses north of Oxford Street, and in the fields that have disappeared today, there were still green onion trees and wild flowers, and the hawthorn was in full bloom.So the air of the country could roam about Soho briskly and vigorously without shrinking like a homeless pauper intruding into a parish.There are several beautiful south-facing dam walls not far away, and the peach trees on the walls are full of fruits in season.

In the morning, the sun shines brightly on this street corner, but by the time the street gets hotter, the street corner has been shrouded in the shade of trees.The shade is not too deep, and the dazzling sunlight can be seen through it.That place is cool, quiet, and quiet, and people are intoxicated today. It is a wonderful place to listen to echoes, and it is a good haven from the hustle and bustle of the city. In such a harbor there should be a calm boat, and there are boats.The Doctor occupies two floors of a quiet building.It is said that there are people engaged in several occupations working in the building during the day, but the sound is rarely heard, and people avoid this place at night.There is a small patio at the back of the building, which connects to another building.In the small courtyard, the sycamore trees shake their green leaves and rustle.It is said that in that building there was a mysterious giant who made church organs, carved silver, and struck gold, and this giant stretched out a golden arm from the wall of the vestibule-as if he had knocked himself precious. And it is bound to make all his guests more precious.Besides the above-mentioned occupations, there was said to be a lone lodger upstairs, and vaguely heard downstairs of the counting-house of a carriage manufacturer, though seldom seen or spoken of.Sometimes a wandering worker would walk across the hall in his clothes.Sometimes a stranger would look around.Sometimes there was a distant jingle from across the little courtyard, or a thump from the giant with the golden arms.But all these were mere occasional exceptions, just proof that from Sunday morning until Saturday night the sparrows in the plane trees behind the house and the echoes of the street corner in front existed each in its own way.

Here came Dr. Manette, whose patients were brought about by his old reputation and that awakened by whispered stories about him.His scientific knowledge and the tact and skill with which he performed innovative surgical experiments also brought him a certain number of patients, so that he could get the income he needed. All this he knew, thought, and noticed as Jarvis Lowry rang the doorbell of his corner house on this fine Sunday afternoon. "Is Dr. Manette at home?" Waiting for him to come back. "Is Miss Lucy at home?" Waiting for her to come back. "Is Miss Pross at home?"

Maybe at home.But the maid was completely unable to estimate Miss Pross' intention, whether she was visiting or not admitting that she was at home. "I'm at home here," said Mr. Lorry; "I'll go upstairs myself!" The doctor's daughter, though ignorant of the country of her birth, seems to have inherited from it the talent for doing more with less.This was the most useful and popular feature of that country.Although the furniture in this room is simple, it is full of trinkets.These things cost little, and express taste and imagination to a pleasing effect.The arrangement of the objects in the room, from the largest to the smallest, with their color combinations, tasteful variations and contrasts (made by a small economy, combined with dexterous hand, keen eye, and good taste) Obtained) are pleasing to the eye, reflecting the designer's elegance.Therefore, when Mr. Lorry stood looking around the room, even the table and chairs seemed to ask his opinion with a special expression which he was now quite familiar with: Satisfied?

There are three rooms on this floor.The doors between the rooms are all left open for air circulation.Mr. Lorry walked from room to room, observing with a smile the same dexterity in the different things around him.The first room was the prettiest, and contained Lucy's flowers, birds, books, desk and workbench, and a box of water-colour paints.The second is a doctor's office that doubles as a restaurant.The third room is the doctor's bedroom because of the phoenix trees in the courtyard, the shadows of the trees are whirling, and the leaves are soft.In one corner of the bedroom was the unused set of cobbler's benches and toolboxes, much as they were on the fifth floor of the dismal building near the Hotel Suburban Saint-Antoine in Paris.

"I don't think so," Mr. Lorry paused to observe, "that he would keep these things that reminded him of his suffering!" "Is there anything unexpected:" A sudden rhetorical question surprised him. This rhetorical question came from Miss Puruth, that powerful woman with the red face and thick arms.He had first met her at the King George's Hotel in Dover, and his impressions had improved. "I should expect to—" Rory began to explain. "Bah! You ought to have imagined it!" said Miss Pross; and Mr. Lorry fell silent. "Hello?" At this time, the young lady greeted him—although her tone was sharp, she didn't seem to be hostile to him. ,

"Very well, thank you," replied Mr. Lorry, mildly, "how are you?" "Nothing to brag about," said Miss Pross. "real?" "Ah! indeed!" said Miss Pross. "I'm dying of anxiety about my little bird." "real?" "Dear me! Can you say something else but 'really' and 'really'? It's so tiresome," said Miss Pross.Shortness is one of her character traits—except for her stature. "Then how about 'indeed'?" Mr. Lorry hastily corrected. "It's not so much 'indeed,'" replied Miss Pross, "but it's better. Yes, I'm in a hurry."

"May I ask why?" "I don't like having dozens and hundreds of people who are not good enough for my little bird come here for her," said Miss Pross. "Are there really dozens or hundreds of people who came to her for that purpose?" "There are hundreds," said Miss Pross. It was a peculiarity of this young lady that she tended to exaggerate when others doubted what she said.So did many before and after her. "My God!" said Mr. Lorry, and it was the safest thing he could think of. "I've lived with her since the little bird was ten years old--or she paid me to live with me. She really doesn't need to pay, I can say, if I can do it without pay." To support herself, or to support her--since she was ten years old. But I do have difficulties," said Miss Pross.

Mr. Lorry did not quite understand what her difficulty was, but shook his head.He regards that important part of his body as the great consolation of the immortal, which can express any meaning. "There are all sorts of people who are not at all worthy of my darling, and who keep coming," said Miss Pross. "When you started this—" "Did I start it, Miss Pross?" "Isn't it? Who brought her father back to life?" "Ah! that's the beginning--" said Mr. Lorry. "It ain't the end, I see? It was hard enough when you first started; I don't mean to find fault with Dr. Manette, it's just that he doesn't deserve such a daughter. I don't mean to reproach him, Because no one should blame him under any circumstances. But the crowds of people who come to him, trying to take the affection of the little bird from me, are doubly, triple. It hurts, though I can forgive him."

Mr. Lorry knew that Miss Pross was jealous.But he also knew now that beneath her queer exterior she was an unselfish woman--only a woman could be--the kind of person who would be a slave for sheer love and adoration, for whom To serve the youth that was lost and that others had, to the beauty that they never had, to the success that fate did not give them, to the bright hope that never greeted their dark life.Mr. Lorry is well aware of the morals of the world, and understands that nothing in the world can compare to loyal service from the heart.It was a loyal devotion untainted by the idea of ​​employment.He had the highest respect for this affection of hers, and made amends in his heart (we all do this, some do more and some less), and put Miss Pross in It is close to the status of the lower angels, ranking above the ladies who have an account at Tellson's Bank, although the latter's natural talents and acquired education do not know how many times stronger than hers. "There was and ever was but one man worthy of my little bird," said Miss Pross; "my brother Solomon, if he had not made the only mistake of his life." It's the same situation again: Mr. Lorry's investigation of Miss Pross' history reveals that her brother Solomon is a villain without a conscience.He searched for everything about her and speculated desperately, and then abandoned her, letting her live a poor life forever, but he didn't regret it at all.Mr. Lorry highly valued Pross's loyalty and trust in Solomon (except for his little fault).This accounted for a lot of weight in his good opinion of her. "Since we have no one else now, and we are all business people," he said after they returned to the living room and sat down amicably, "I want to ask you—the doctor never mentioned that he made shoes when he talked to Lucy. Is it time?" "No." "And he left that bench and tools with him?" "Ah," said Miss Pross, shaking her head. "I don't think he didn't have those things in his mind." "You believe how much he thinks?" "Trust me," said Miss Pross. "You imagine—" Mr. Lorry hadn't finished, when Miss Pross interrupted him: "Don't imagine anything. Don't imagine anything." "I correct. But you assume--do you sometimes assume?" "It is sometimes assumed," said Miss Pross. "You suppose--" went on Mr. Lorry, looking kindly at her, with a smile in his bright eyes, that Dr. Manette's reason for his being so severely persecuted in those years may perhaps be Do you have your own opinion on who persecuted him? " "I make no assumptions other than what my little bird tells me." "Her word was - one?" "She thought he had an opinion." "Now, I'm going to ask some questions. Don't be angry, because I'm just a clumsy business person, and you are a business woman." "Clumsy?" asked Miss Pross calmly. , Mr. Lorry, wishing to retract the polite adjective, replied, "No, no, no. Of course not. Let's talk about business. We are all quite sure that Dr. Manette has not committed a crime, but he has no idea about the matter." Isn't it weird that he never talks about it? I don't mean he should talk to me, although he has been in business with me for years and is now a good friend. I mean he should tell his beautiful daughter. He Devotion to her, and who could not be to her? Believe me, Miss Pross, I am telling you this not from curiosity, but from intense interest." Well!To my best understanding, and you will say my best understanding is bad, too," said Miss Pross, her heart softened by the tone of the apology, "he is terrified of the whole subject. ", "Fear?" "I think the reason why he is afraid is very clear, because the memory itself is terrible. Moreover, he lost his memory because of this incident. How his memory was lost and how it was recovered, he still has no idea Can't figure it out. So he feels there's no guarantee that he won't ever lose his memory again. That alone makes the question unpleasant, I think." This explanation is deeper than Mr. Lorry wants to find the answer. "Yes, and it is frightening to think about. But I have a question in my mind, Miss Pross, would it do Dr. Manette any good to keep his persecutions in his mind forever? In fact I am now talking to you. The exchange of views was precisely because of this question and the uneasiness it caused in me." "There's nothing," said Miss Pross, shaking her head. "As soon as he touches that string he's in trouble. It's better not to touch it. Simply put, you can't touch it whether you like it or not. Sometimes we hear him In the middle of the night, he got up and walked up and down the room (that is, above our heads). Later, the little bird realized that his heart was still walking in the prison cell he used to be, and hurried to They walked together in front of him, and walked, and walked, until he calmed down. But he never said a word to her about the cause of his uneasiness. And she found it best not to bring up the question to him. The two of them just walked up and down like this, until her love and companionship calmed him down." Though Miss Pross did not admit that she had imaginations, it was proved that she too had imaginations when she repeated the words "walking about" and showed the pain of being constantly haunted by a tragic thought. As I said before, that street corner was a wonderful place to hear the echo.At this time, the echo of footsteps gradually approaching came loudly, as if the sound of tired footsteps began to come at the mention of those tired footsteps. "Come back!" Pross stood up and stopped talking. "There will be hundreds of people coming soon." This is a wonderful place, it has very good ears and some unusual acoustics.When Mr. Lorry stood at the open window looking for the father and daughter who had already heard footsteps, he thought that they would never arrive again-not only the sound of their footsteps seemed to be gradually receding, but also there was a place that did not exist. The footsteps of others replaced it, and the latter did not approach, only disappearing when they seemed to approach.However, the father and daughter finally appeared.Miss Pross had met them at the street door. Miss Pross, though red-faced, wild, and stern, beamed as she busied herself about her darling.She helped her take off her hat as she went upstairs, dusted the dust with the corner of her towel, and blew the dust with her mouth.She folded her cloak for storage.She brushed her rich locks with pride, as if she, the most vain and beautiful woman herself, could be no more than proud of her hair.Her baby was also beaming.She hugged her, thanked her, and protested at all the fuss she was making on her behalf--she could only do it in a playful tone, or Miss Pross would be so wronged that she would go back to her room and cry.The doctor was also beaming.He looked at them both, and told Miss Pross that she had spoiled Lucy, and that in his tone and eyes he was as spoiled as Miss Pross, perhaps more so, if possible. .Mr. Lorry was also beaming.He watched it all with a small wig and smiled, thanking the lucky stars of his bachelor life for shining a light on him and giving him a home in his twilight years.But this scene was not seen by "hundreds of people", and Mr. Lorry looked for a verification of Pross' prophecy, but failed to find it. When dinner time came, "hundreds of people" still hadn't shown up.Among domestic activities, Miss Pross took care of the lower jobs, and she always did a good job.Her meals were mediocre, but decently prepared, beautifully designed, half English, half French, and outstanding.Miss Pross's friendship was very practical.She scoured Soho and the environs for impoverished Frenchmen, and paid a shilling or a half-crown to teach them the secrets of cooking.She has learned so many fine arts from these waning Gallic descendants that even the best of the housemaids consider her a witch or godmother to Cinderella: just order a With a chicken, a rabbit, and one or two vegetables, you can make whatever delicacies you want. Miss Pross dined at the doctor's table on Sundays, and on other days she insisted on eating in her room on the ground floor or on the second floor when no one knew - it was a blue room, except for her little bird. No one else is allowed to enter.At this moment Miss Pross was very easygoing, because of the little bird's happy face, and because she was trying to please her.So everyone had a good time at dinner. It was a sweltering day.After dinner, Lucy suggested to sit in the open air and drink the wine under the sycamore tree outside.Because everything in the family revolved around her, and decisions were made because of her, they came under the plane tree.She brought wine just for Mr. Lorry, because she had proclaimed herself to be Mr. Lorry's messenger not long ago.When she was idle under the sycamore tree, she always filled his glass.As they talked, the neighboring houses peered at them with their mysterious backs or gables.Indus also whispered above their heads in their own way. "Hundreds of them" still didn't show up.They sat idle under the plane tree.Mr. Darnay did come, but he was alone. Dr. Manette received him kindly, as did Lucy.But Miss Pross felt a throbbing pain in her head and body, and went back into the house.She used to have this ailment, and in gossip she called it a "cramp." The doctor is in excellent condition and looks very young.At such times he was most like Lucy.The two sat together, she snuggling on his shoulder, his arm on the back of her chair.It's delightful to look at the similarities between the two. The doctor is very energetic.He talked all day, on many topics. "Excuse me, Dr. Manette," said Mr. Darnay, who sat down under the plane tree and talked naturally.They were talking about London's old buildings—"Are you familiar with the Tower of London?" "Lucy and I went there together, but by accident. Seen enough, though. I know it's interesting. I don't know much about the rest." "I was in prison there, you remember," said Darnay, smiling, but also blushing a little with anger. "It's a different role, not the kind you're entitled to visit. They told me a strange thing when I was there." "What's the matter?" Lucy asked. "While renovating a certain place, the workmen found a dungeon that had been forgotten for years. On every stone in the walls of the dungeon were inscriptions, by the prisoners. Dates, names, grievances, prayers. In On a foundation stone in the corner, a prisoner (he seems to have been killed) carved his last work, which was three letters carved with very bad tools. At first glance, it seems to be 0, 1, C, but if you look carefully But the last letter was G. There is no file of a prisoner with DIG as his initials, and there is no legend about this prisoner. Many useless guesses have been made about the name. Finally, it was assumed that these letters were not initials, but A word DIG. A very careful examination of the ground where the inscription was made found a piece of decayed paper and a decayed small leather case or Leather bag. The two have become one. What the nameless prisoner wrote is never to be read, but he did write something, and hid it from the jailer's eyes." "Dad," cried Lucy, "are you sick?" He had stood up suddenly with one hand on his head, which startled them all. "No, my dear, there's nothing wrong. It's raining, and it's raining heavily, and it frightens me. We'd better go in!" He calmed down almost immediately.Indeed, heavier and heavier rains are already falling.He showed them the raindrops on the back of his hand, but he said nothing about the discovery he had just talked about.And as they went back into the house, Mr. Lorry's professional eyes saw (or thought he did), and there was a peculiar expression on the doctor's face as he turned to Charles Darnay. It was the same look he had shown that day when he turned his face to Darnay in the court passage. Doctors quickly returned to normal.Mr. Lorry even doubted his professional eyes.The doctor stopped under the golden giant in the living room and told everyone that he was not immune to minor accidents (though sometimes he didn't have to), and the rain startled him.At this time, even the golden giant's arm was no more stable than his. Have afternoon tea.Miss Pross was making tea when the cramp returned. "Hundreds of them" still haven't shown up.At this time, Mr. Carleton also strolled in, but he was only two guests. The night was very hot, and although they sat with the doors and windows open, the heat was unbearable.After tea they sat down again at a window to look out into the deep dusk.Lucy sat beside Pa, Darnay beside Lucy, and Carton leaned against a window.The curtains are white and very long.The lightning wind swirling into the street corner lifted the curtains to the ceiling, fluttering like ghost wings, "It's still raining, thin and thin, but the drops are heavy and hard," said Dr. Manette. "The thunderstorms are coming very slowly." "But it's sure to come," Carlton said. Everyone lowered their voices--most people who watched and waited; people who watched and waited for lightning and thunder in a dark room always did. There was a commotion in the street.People have to rush to find a place to hide from the rain before the storm.This good place to listen to the echoes echoes of footsteps running around, but no footsteps come to the house. "There are crowds, but there is loneliness:" everyone listened for a while, Darnay said. "Isn't that very touching, Mr. Darnay?" said Lucy. "I'll sit here sometimes all night until a fancy comes to me--but to-night everything is so dark and sublime that even the slightest foolish fancy frightens me." "Let's be scared together. So we can understand what's going on "It doesn't seem to matter to you. It seems to me that this hallucination is ineffable, and only touching when it comes to us. I sometimes sit here and listen all night before I realize that it is going to gradually The echo of all footsteps that walk into our lives." "If that's the case, there are plenty of people who will come into our lives one day," said Sidney Carton, with his usual gloom. The sound of footsteps was intermittent, but more and more urgent, echoing repeatedly on the street corner.Some seem to have come under the window, some seem to have entered the house, some come, some go, some slowly disappear, and some stop abruptly, but they are all on the street far away, and no one can be seen. "Are these footsteps destined to enter our common life, or to our separate lives, Miss Manette?" "I don't know, Mr. Darnay. I told you it was but a foolish delusion, and you insisted on me answering. I was alone when I was overwhelmed by the sound of footsteps, and I imagined they were going into Footsteps of people in my life and my father's." "I accept them into my life!" Carlton said. "I ask no questions, no conditions. A great crowd is upon us, Miss Manette, and I have seen them!--by lightning." A blinding flash of lightning caught him reclining At the window, add the last sentence. "And heard them!" he added with a thunderclap. "They are coming, fast, fierce, and majestic!" He was describing the storm, and the sound of the storm made him shut up, for the words could no longer be heard.An unforgettable flash of thunder and lightning followed the sweeping rain.There was rumble of thunder, flashes of lightning, and heavy rain without a break until midnight.Then the moon rose again. The great clock of St. Paul's Cathedral struck one o'clock in the cloudless sky, and Mr. Lorry, accompanied by Jerry in high boots and with a lantern in his hand, set off for Clerkenwell.There were some wild stretches of the road from Soho to Clerkenwell, and Mr. Lorry always made an appointment with Jerry to escort him, though he usually set off two hours earlier than the present time, for fear of a cut. "What a dreadful night! Almost made the dead run out of their graves!" "I've never seen a night like it myself, my lord, and don't want to have one--don't know what's going to happen!" answered Jerry. "Good night, Mr. Carleton," said the businessman. "Good-bye, Mr. Darnay. Will we ever spend an evening like this again?" Maybe it will, maybe.You see that huge crowd of scurrying and screaming is approaching them.