“But it does matter,” Mr. Lorry urged.

“No it doesn’t; I assure you it doesn’t. Having supposed that

there was sense where there is no sense, and a laudable ambition

where there is not a laudable ambition, I am well out of my

mistake, and no harm is done. Young women have committed

similar follies often before, and have repented them in poverty and

obscurity often before. In an unselfish aspect, I am sorry that the

thing is dropped, because it would have been a bad thing for me in

a worldly point of view; in a selfish aspect, I am glad that the thing

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

has dropped, because it would have been a bad thing for me in a

worldly point of viewit is hardly necessary to say I could have

gained nothing by it. There is no harm at all done. I have not

proposed to the young lady, and, between ourselves, I am by no

means certain, on reflection, that I ever should have committed

myself to that extent. Mr. Lorry, you cannot control the mincing

vanities and giddinesses of empty-headed girls; you must not

expect to do it, or you will always be disappointed. Now, pray say

no more about it. I tell you, I regret it on account of others, but I

am satisfied on my own account. And I am really very much

obliged to you for allowing me to sound you, and for giving me

your advice; you know the young lady better than I do; you were

right, it never would have done.”

Mr. Lorry was so taken aback, that he looked quite stupidly at

Mr. Stryver shouldering him towards the door, with an

appearance of showering generosity, forbearance, and goodwill,

on his erring head. “Make the best of it; my dear sir,” said Stryver;

“say no more about it; thank you again for allowing me to sound

you; good night!”

Mr. Lorry was out in the night, before he knew where he was.

Mr. Stryver was lying back on his sofa, winking at his ceiling.

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

Chapter XIX

THE FELLOW OF NO DELICACY

f Sydney Carton ever shone anywhere, he certainly never

shone in the house of Doctor Manette. He had been there

often, during a whole year, and had always been the same

moody and morose lounger there. When he cared to talk, he talked

well; but, the cloud of caring for nothing which overshadowed him

with such a fatal darkness, was very rarely pierced by the light

within him.

And yet he did care something for the streets that environed

that house, and for the senseless stones that made their

pavements. Many a night he vaguely and unhappily wandered

there, when wine had brought no transitory gladness to him; many

a dreary daybreak revealed his solitary figure lingering there, and

still lingering there when the first beams of the sun brought into

strong relief, removed beauties in architecture in spires of

churches and lofty buildings, as perhaps the quiet time brought

some sense of better things, else forgotten and unattainable, into