Page 70 - A Tale of Two Cities

Chapter 11
A Tale of Two Cities
The shadows that fell on the prison that afternoon were falling on
the gates of Paris, too, as a coach drove up to them.

One of the guards shouted for the people’s papers. When they
had been handed to him, he then looked through them carefully.
‘Alexandre Manette, French. Which is he?’

‘This is him,’ said Mr Lorry, pointing at the old man who sat in
the corner of the coach, whispering to himself.
‘Lucie, his daughter. French. Ah, the wife of Evrémonde! He is
busy elsewhere this afternoon!’

‘This is her.’
‘And this, then, is her child. Lucie, English. Sydney Carton, also
English. Which is he?’

‘He is here,’ said Mr Lorry. ‘He has just said goodbye to a great
friend, and fainted, but he will soon feel better in the fresh air.’
‘And Jarvis Lorry?’

‘That’s me,’ said Mr Lorry.
The guards walked around the coach and looked at the luggage,
then gave them back their papers.

‘Have a good journey, citizens,’ he said.
And then they were away, through open country, down long
roads with leafless trees, and past small villages. The winds and the

clouds flew behind, but no one else came after them at all.

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