liberality to old customers who had fallen from their high estate.

Again: those nobles who had seen the coming storm in time, and

anticipating plunder or confiscation, had made provident

remittances to Tellson’s, were always to be heard of there by their

needy brethren. To which it must be added that every newcomer

from France reported himself and his tidings at Tellson’s, almost

as a matter of course. For such variety of reasons, Tellson’s was at

that time, as to French intelligence, a kind of High Exchange; and

this was so well known to the public, and the inquiries made there

were in consequence so numerous, that Tellson’s sometimes wrote

the latest news out in a line or so and posted it in the Bank

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

windows, for all who ran through Temple Bar to read.

On a steamy, misty afternoon, Mr. Lorry sat at his desk, and

Charles Darnay stood leaning on it, talking with him in a low

voice. The penitential den once set apart for interviews with the

House, was now the news Exchange, and was filled to overflowing.

It was within half an hour or so of the time of closing.

“But, although you are the youngest man that ever lived,” said

Charles Darnay, rather hesitating, “I must still suggest to you”

“I understand. That I am too old?” said Mr. Lorry.

“Unsettled weather, a long journey, uncertain means of