ay across a silent terrace, and saw for a

moment, lying in the wilderness before him, a mirage of

honourable ambition, self-denial, and perseverance. In the fair city

of this vision, there were airy galleries from which the loves and

graces looked upon him, gardens in which the fruits of life hung

ripening, waters of Hope that sparkled in his sight. A moment, and

it was gone. Climbing to a high chamber, in a well of houses, he

threw himself down in his clothes on a neglected bed, and its

pillow was wet with wasted tears.

Sadly, sadly, the sun rose; it rose upon no sadder sight than the

man of good abilities and good emotions, incapable of their

directed exercise, incapable of his own help and his own

happiness, sensible of the blight on him, and resigning himself to

let it eat him away.

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

Chapter XII

HUNDREDS OF PEOPLE

T

he quiet lodgings of Doctor Manette were in a streetcorner

not far from Soho-square. On the afternoon of a

certain fine Sunday when the waves of four months had

rolled over the trial for treason, and carried it, as to the public

interest and memory, far out to sea, Mr. Jarvis Lorry walked along

the sunny streets from Clerkenwell where he lived, on his way to

dine with the Doctor. After several relapses into the businessabsorption,