He  had  laid  aside  his  coat  and  waistcoat ;  his  shirt  was  open
at  the  throat,  as  it  used  to  be  when  he  did  that  work ;  and
even  the  old  haggard,  faded  surface  of  face  had  come  back  to
him.  He  worked  hard — impatiently — as  if  in  some  sense  of
having  been  interrupted.
Mr.  Lony  glanced  at  the  work  in  his  hand,  and  observed
that  it  was  a  shoe  of  the  old  size  and  shape.  He  took  up
another  that  was  lying  by  him,  and  asked  what  it  was  ?

"A  young  lady's  walking  shoe,"  he  muttered,  without
looking  up.  "It  ought  to  have  been  finished  long  ago.  Let
it  be."

"  But,  Doctor  Manette.     Look  at  me ! "

He  obeyed,  in  the  old  mechanically  submissive  maimer,
without  pausing  in  his  work.
"You  know  me,  my  dear  friend?  Think  again.  This  is
not  your  proper  occupation.     Think,  dear  friend  I "

Nothing  would  induce  him  to  speak  more.  He  looked  up,
for  an  instant  at  a  time,  when  he  was  requested  to  do  so ;  but,
no  persuasion  would  extract  a  word  from  him.  He  worked,
and  worked,  and  worked,  in  silence,  and  words  fell  on  him
as  they  would  have  fallen  on  an  echoless  wall,  or  on  the  air.
The  only  ray  of  hope  that  Mr.  Lorry  could  discover,  was,  that
he  sometimes  furtively  looked  up  without  being  asked.  In
that,  there  seemed  a  faint  expression  of  curiosity  or  perplexity
— as  though  he  were  trying  to  reconcile  some  doubts  in  his
mind.
