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Bank, there was a general set of the current of talkers past Mr.

Lorry’s desk. He held the letter out inquiringly; and Monseigneur

looked at it, in the person of this plotting and indignant refugee;

and This, That, and The Other, all had something disparaging to

say, in French or in English, concerning the Marquis who was not

to be found.

“Nephew, I believebut in any case degenerate successorof

the polished Marquis who was murdered,” said one. “Happy to say

I never knew him.”

“A craven who abandoned his post,” said anotherthis

Monseigneur had been got out of Paris, legs uppermost and half

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suffocated, in a load of hay“some years ago.”

“Infected with the new doctrines,” said a third, eyeing the

direction through his glass in passing; “set himself in opposition to

the last Marquis, abandoned the estates when he inherited them,

and left them to the ruffian herd. They will recompense him now, I

hope, as he deserves.”

“Hey?” cried the blatant Stryver. “Did he though? Is that the

sort of fellow? Let us look at his infamous name. Dn the fellow!”

Darnay, unable to restrain himself any longer, touched Mr.

Stryver on the shoulder, and said:

“I know the fellow.”

“Do you, by Jupiter?” said Stryver. “I am sorry for it.”

“Why?”

“Why, Mr. Darnay? D’ye hear what he did? Don’t ask why