and the irruption was repeated, and the grindstone whirled and

spluttered. “What is it?” cried Lucie, affrighted. “Hush! The

soldiers’ swords are sharpened there,” said Mr. Lorry. “The place

is national property now, and used as a kind of armoury, my love.”

Twice more in all; but, the last spell of work was feeble and

fitful. Soon afterwards the day began to dawn, and he softly

detached himself from the clasping hand, and cautiously looked

out again. A man, so besmeared that he might have been a sorely

wounded soldier creeping back to consciousness on a field of slain,

was rising from the pavement by the side of the grindstone, and

looking about him with a vacant air. Shortly, this worn-out

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

murderer descried in the imperfect light one of the carriages of

Monseigneur, and, staggering to that gorgeous vehicle, climbed in

at the door, and shut himself up to take his rest on its dainty

cushions.

The great grindstone, Earth, had turned when Mr. Lorry looked

out again, and the sun was red on the courtyard. But, the lesser

grindstone stood alone there in the calm morning air, with a red

upon it that the sun had never given, and would never take away.

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

Chapter XXXIII

THE SHADOW

O

ne of the first considerations which arose in the business

mi