A Tale of Two Cities by Dave Mckay, Charles Dickens (easy readers .txt) 📖

few lines to show his age, was free from signs of worry. That may have been because it was his job to think only of other people's worries; and other people's worries are easy to take off, as one can do with other people's clothes.

As often happens to one who is sitting for a painting, Mr. Lorry dropped off to sleep. But when his breakfast arrived, he came awake quickly, moved his chair closer to the table, and said to the waiter. "I'll need a room for a young woman who will be arriving here sometime today. She may ask for me by name, or she may only ask for a man from Tellson's Bank. Please do let me know when she comes."

"Yes, sir. Is that Tellson's Bank in London, sir?” "Yes."

"We often have people from your bank staying here, sir, on their travels between London and Paris."

"Yes, our bank in France is quite big, as is the one in England."

"Yes, sir. You yourself do not travel much?"

"Not these days. It's fifteen years since we... that is, since I... last came here from France."

"Is that true, sir? That was before my time here, sir. In truth, it was before our people's time here, sir. The George was in other hands at that time, sir."

"I believe it was."

"But I would say, sir, that Tellson's was a big business not just fifteen years ago, but more like fifty years ago."

"You can add that three times over if you like, for if you had said 150 years ago, you would not be far from the truth."

"You don't say, sir!"

Opening wide both his mouth and his eyes, the waiter moved back to where he could stand comfortably, and he quietly watched the traveller eat, the way waiters do at all times and in all places.

When Mr. Lorry had finished his meal, he went for a walk. The little town of Dover tried to hide behind the chalk cliffs that dropped down to the beach, while the beach itself was like a desert, with hills of water throwing stones around. The waves did what they liked, and what they liked most was to destroy things. The waves shouted at the town and shouted at the cliffs. The air around the houses smelled so much like fish that one would think that sick fish might go there to breathe the air in the same way that sick people from the town went down to the water for healing. A few people fished in the ocean each day, and many people walked around at night, looking out at the ocean. This happened most when the water level was up. Business people who did no business at all would often become rich quickly without an honest reason for it; and it is strange that no one in the town had any interest in putting up lights at night!

(Dickens is trying to say that the town secretly smuggled things in from across the ocean, under cover of darkness.)

As evening came closer, and the air, which had been so clear that one could see across the ocean to France earlier in the day, turned to clouds, Mr. Lorry's thoughts seemed to take on clouds too. When he was back in the coffee room waiting for his evening meal, his mind was busily digging, digging, digging in the hot red coals on the fire.

A bottle of good red wine after dinner does not hurt the mind of one who digs in hot red coals, apart from putting an end to the digging. Mr. Lorry had stopped his digging sometime earlier, and was pouring the last glass of wine from the bottle with a happy look on his face when he heard the sound of timber wheels on the stone street, just before they turned into the hotel yard.

He put down his glass without touching the wine in it. "She’s here!" he said to himself.

In a few minutes the waiter came to say that Miss Manette had arrived from London, and would like to see the man from Tellson's.

"So soon?"

Miss Manette had been eating on the way and was not hungry. On the other hand, she was hungry to hear what the man from Tellson's had to say, as soon as he was able to see her.

The man from Tellson's finished his glass of wine without feeling, smoothed his strange little wig around his ears, and then followed the waiter to Miss Manette's room. It was a big dark room, with heavy, dark furniture that had been oiled so much that the light of two tall candles went deeply into each board on the table where they were sitting. It was like the candles themselves were buried in the black timber, and one needed to dig the light out of them.

It was so dark that Mr. Lorry, finding his way over the rug, was thinking that the woman must be in a neighbouring room. But when he was past the two candles, he could see her standing there in the same room, beside another table.

She was a young woman, not looking more than 17, still in her riding coat, and still holding her hat by its string. Mr. Lorry's eyes rested on a short, thin, beautiful woman with golden hair and blue eyes that met his own with a questioning look. The smooth skin on her forehead could lift itself in a way that showed a mixture of enthusiastic interest, fear, confusion, and surprise. As he looked at her, he remembered a child whom he had held in his arms on another crossing of the Channel between France and England. It had been very cold. The waves had been high, and little pieces of ice had been thrown at him by the wind. The picture in his mind became invisible as quickly as breathing on the tall mirror behind her would have disappeared from the mirror. And he bowed in her direction.

"Please take a seat, sir.” Her voice was clear and beautiful, with only the softest French sound to it.

"I kiss your hand, Miss," said Mr. Lorry before taking a seat.

"I received a letter from the Bank yesterday, sir, saying that you had learned... or that you had found..."

"Either word will do, Miss."

"...that you learned something about my poor father, whom I have never seen, him being so long dead..."

Mr. Lorry moved in his chair, and turned a worried look toward the mirror behind Miss Manette.

"And that I needed to go to Paris, where I would meet a man from the Bank who was going there from here."

"That's me."

"And that is what I thought, sir."

She bowed to his age and wisdom. And then she bowed again.

"Because I have no parents, and I have no friend to go with me, I asked the bank if I could travel with you to Paris. They said you had already left London, but they sent a man to find you, and ask you to wait for me here."

"And I was happy to do that," said Mr. Lorry. "I shall be even happier to travel with you."

"Sir, I truly thank you. I was told that you would tell me more about what I must do; and they said that I should be prepared for a surprise. I have tried to be prepared for anything, but I have a strong interest in knowing what this is all about."

"I can understand that," said Mr. Lorry. "Yes... I...” He smoothed his wig once again.

"It is very difficult to start."

He did not start. He just looked at her. Her forehead lifted itself in that way that showed so many different emotions at once. Then she lifted her hand, like she was trying to touch a shadow.

"Do I know you?"

"Should you?” he asked, opening his hands and projecting them toward her, with a smile as his only argument.

The emotion showing in her forehead became deeper, as she sat down in the chair that she had been standing beside. He watched her as she thought deeply, and when she looked up at him again, he went on:

"Because you live in England now, can I call you Miss Manette?"

"If you like, sir."

"Miss Manette, I am a man of business; and I have a job to do. As you listen, think of me only as a talking machine, for I am not much more than that. If you will let me, I will tell you the story of one of the people that I have served."

"Story?"

He chose not to hear or to answer what she was really asking, as he went on quickly. "Yes, one of the people I have served. He was a French scientist. A doctor."

"Not from Beauvais?"

"Why, yes, from Beauvais. Like your father, Mr. Manette. And like your father, he was well known in Paris. I was proud to have known him there. We secretly did business together. At that time I had been in our French office for about twenty years."

"At that time? May I ask what time that was, sir?"

"I am talking, Miss, of twenty years ago. He married an English woman. His business, like the business of many other French men and families, was fully in the hands of Tellson's Bank. I have served hundreds of people like that in my job. They are not friends, and there are no emotions between us... just business. In short, I have no feelings about these things. I am only a machine. So, to go on..."

"But this is my father's story, sir.” And her forehead was rougher than ever now, as she looked deeply at him. "I am starting to think that, when my mother died, two years after my father, it was you who carried me to England. I am almost sure it was you."

Mr. Lorry touched the shy little hand that had reached out to take his, and he lifted it to his lips, after which he walked with her back to the chair she had left. Then, with his left hand on the back of the chair, he busied his right hand with touching his chin, smoothing his wig, and making movements to go with what he went on to say. She sat looking up at him as he talked.

"Yes, Miss Manette. It was I. And you can see that I was only doing my job when you remember that you have not seen me since. It has been the business of Tellson's Bank to care for you; but I myself have been busy with other people. Feelings? I have no time for them. I spend my whole life, Miss, working for a very big machine that is there only to make money."

After this strange way of talking about his job, Mr. Lorry used both of his hands to smooth the wig (which was not needed, for it could not be smoother or flatter than it was already), and then returned his left hand to the back of the chair.

"As you have seen, the story has been about your father. But now comes a difference. If your father had not died when he did... Don't be afraid! My, how you jumped!"

And she did truly jump. With both of her hands she took hold of his right wrist.

"Please," said Mr. Lorry softly, bringing his left hand over to put it on the shaking hands that were holding his right wrist. "Please control yourself. This is nothing but business. As I was saying..."

But her look made him forget for a second what he was saying. So he started again.

"As I was saying, if Mr. Manette had not died, if he had only disappeared, if he had been carried away secretly, if it had been difficult to say to what awful place he had been taken, if he had an enemy in that country who could fill in papers to have him put in prison with no one knowing where it was, and if his wife had asked the king, the queen, the court, the church to do something with no effect, then the story of your father would be the story of the poor man I served, the doctor from Beauvais."

"I beg you to tell me more, sir.” "I will. I will. Are you up to it?”

"What I am not up to is waiting."

"You sound relaxed. And, yes, you do look relaxed. That's good!" (But he did not sound as confident of this as his words may have seemed.) "Back to business. Think of it as business... business that must be done. Now if this doctor's wife, a strong, brave woman, had been through so much before the birth of her child..."

"The child was a daughter, sir?"

"Yes, a daughter. Just... just... business. Do not worry. Miss, if the poor woman had been through so much before the child was born, that she wanted to shield the child from going through the same things, by letting her believe that her father was dead... No, don't get down on your knees in front of me like that! In heaven's name, why are you doing that?"

"For the truth. Oh good kind sir, for the truth!"

"This is... is... business. You have confused me, and how can I do my job if I