side.

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He looked back over his shoulder, and beckoned them to enter.

Mr. Lorry got his arm securely round the daughter’s waist, and

held her; for he felt that she was sinking.

“Aaabusiness, business!” he urged with a moisture that

was not of business shining on his cheek. “Come in, come in!”

“I am afraid of it,” she answered, shuddering.

“Of it? What?”

“I mean of him. Of my father.”

Rendered in a manner desperate, by her state and by the

beckoning of their conductor, he drew over his neck the arm that

shook upon his shoulder, lifted her a little, and hurried her into

the room. He set her down just within the door, and held her,

clinging to him.

Defarge drew out the key, closed the door, locked it on the

inside, took out the key again, and held it in his hand. All this he

did, methodically, and with as loud and harsh an accompaniment

of noise as he could make. Finally, he walked across the room with

a measured tread to where the window was. He stopped there and

faced round.

The garret, built to be a depository for firewood and the like,

was dim and dark; for, the window of dormer shape, was in truth a

door in the roof, with a little crane over it for the hoisting up of

stores from the street: unglazed, and closing up the middle in two