Lord interposed (with as grave a face as if it had not been true),

saying that he could not sit upon that Bench and suffer those

allusions.

Mr. Stryver then called his few witnesses, and Mr. Cruncher

had next to attend while Mr. Attorney-General turned the whole

suit of clothes Mr. Stryver had fitted on the jury, inside out:

showing how Barsad and Cly were even a hundred times better

than he had thought them, and the prisoner a hundred times

worse. Lastly, came my Lord himself, turning the suit of clothes,

now inside out, now outside in, but on the whole decidedly

trimming and shaping them into grave-clothes for the prisoner.

And now, the jury turned to consider, and the great flies

swarmed again.

Mr. Carton, who had so long sat looking at the ceiling of the

court, changed neither his place nor his attitude, even in this

excitement. While his learned friend, Mr. Stryver, massing his

papers before him, whispered with those who sat near, and from

time to time glanced anxiously at the jury; while all the spectators

moved more or less, and grouped themselves anew; while even my

Lord himself arose from his seat, and slowly paced up and down

his platform, not unattended by a suspicion in the minds of the

audience that his state was feverish; this one man sat leaning

back, with his torn gown half off him, his untidy wig put on