this side of himself, then

on that, as if he had lost the habit of associating place with sound;

he never spoke, without first wandering in this manner, and

forgetting to speak.

“Are you going to finish that pair of shoes today?” asked

Defarge, motioning to Mr. Lorry to come forward.

“What did you say?”

“Do you mean to finish that pair of shoes today?”

“I can’t say that I mean to. I suppose so. I don’t know.”

But, the question reminded him of his work, and he bent over it

again.

Mr. Lorry came silently forward, leaving the daughter by the

door. When he had stood, for a minute or two, by the side of

Defarge, the shoemaker looked up. He showed no surprise at

seeing another figure, but the unsteady fingers of one of his hands

strayed to his lips as he looked at it (his lips and his nails were of

the same pale lead-colour), and then the hand dropped to his

work, and he once more bent over the shoe. The look and the

action had occupied but an instant.

“You have a visitor, you see,” said Monsieur Defarge.

“What did you say?”

“Here is a visitor.”

The shoemaker looked up as before, but without removing a

hand from his work.

“Come!” said Defarge. “Here is monsieur, who knows a wellmade

shoe when he sees one. Show him that shoe you are working

at. Take it, monsieur.”

Mr. Lorry took it in his hand.