A Tale of Two Cities, Dave Mckay, Charles Dickens [most inspirational books of all time TXT] 📗

was in Paris. Tellson's had painted over the angel on the roof of the building, but he was still there pointing his arrows (as he often does) at money from morning to night. A bank in London would be forced to close down if it had this young boy in it, or a big mirror on the wall, or workers who were so young that they could go to dances in the evening. But in France, these things were not a problem, and when the government was holding itself together, no one had been so afraid as to have taken out their money because of them.

But on that night, no one could have said (any more than Mr. Jarvis Lorry could) what money would be taken out of the bank in the future, and what would stay there, lost and forgotten; what gold, silver and expensive stones would grow dirty in Tellson's hiding places while the owners rusted in prisons, or even if the owners should be cruelly killed; or how many people would never end their business with Tellson's in this world, but would be forced to carry it forward to the next world. Mr. Lorry thought heavily about these questions as he sat in front of the fireplace on a night that was colder than most for this time of year. There was a shadow on his honest, brave face that did not come from the light of the fire... a shadow of great fear.

He had taken a room in the bank, because he was as much a part of the bank as the vines that grew on its outside walls. It may be that the others let him stay there because they themselves had control of the biggest part of the building, but the old man with such a true heart never thought about that. All that was important to him was the job he had come there to do. On the opposite side of the bank yard, under a roof that was held up by tall stone cylinders, there was room for many coaches to park; some of Sir's coaches were there now. On the side of two of these stone cylinders were two big burning torches. And in front of these was a big stone wheel that looked like it had been brought there in a hurry from some neighbouring shop. Standing to look out the window at these things, Mr. Lorry had a little shake of fear go through his body. He had, at first, opened the window and the covering that went over it, but on seeing the stone wheel he had closed both again and then had that little shake of fear.

From the streets on the other side of the high wall and the strong gate, there came the night sound of the city, with now and then a strange sound that words cannot repeat, as if some awful prayers were going up to heaven.

"Thank God," said Mr. Lorry, putting his hands together, "that no one close to me is in this awful town tonight. May He have mercy on all who are in danger!"

Soon after that, the bell at the great gate sounded, and he thought, "They've come back!" He sat listening, but there were no loud shouts in the yard, as he had been thinking would happen. Instead, he heard the gate close again, and all was quiet.

The worry and fear that were on him made him start thinking about how safe the rooms were where he was staying. It was well guarded, but he was just standing up to go see the people who were guarding it when his door opened quickly and two people raced in, making him fall back with surprise when he saw who they were.

Lucie and her father! Lucie, with her arms reaching out to him, and that old serious look on her forehead, so strong that it seemed it had always been a part of her just so it would be there to give force to this one special time in her life.

"What is this?” cried Mr. Lorry, surprised and confused. "What's wrong? Lucie! Manette! What has happened, to bring you here? Tell me!"

With that look on her face, she cried in his arms, begging him, "Oh my good friend! It's my husband!"

"Your husband, Lucie?”

"Charles."

"What about Charles?”

"He's here."

"Here, in Paris?"

"He's been here for a few days... three or four, I don't know. I cannot think clearly. He came here to help a friend, without telling us. He was stopped at the gate and sent off to prison."

The old man let out a cry that he could not keep in. Almost at the same time, the bell of the great gate sounded again, and the loud noise of feet and voices came pouring into the yard.

"What's that noise?” asked the Doctor, turning toward the window.

"Don't look!" cried Mr. Lorry. "Don't look out! Manette, for your life, do not touch the window!"

The Doctor turned, with his hand on the window lock, and said, with a cool, confident smile: "My good friend, I have a safe life in this city. Remember that I was a prisoner in the old prison. There is no freedom fighter in Paris... in Paris? No, in France... who, knowing that I was a prisoner before the change of government, would touch me other than covering me with hugs, or carrying me in happiness when we win. The pain of my past helped me through the gate, and helped me learn of Charles while I was there. It has brought us here as I knew it would. I told Lucie that I would be able to help Charles. But what is that noise?” His hand was again on the window.

"Don't look!" cried Mr. Lorry, filled with worry. "No, Lucie, my love, not you either!" He put his arm around her and held her. "Do not be afraid, my love. I promise that I know of no one hurting Charles; I didn't even know he was here. What prison is he in?"

"La Force!"

"La Force? Lucie, my child, if you were brave enough to obey in your life... and you always were... you must control yourself now to do just what I tell you. There is more resting on this than I can say or you can think. There is nothing that you can do tonight; you cannot possibly leave this house. I say this, because what I'm asking you to do for Charles is often the hardest thing to do. You must obey me and quietly do nothing. You must let me put you in a room at the back here. You must leave your father here with me for two minutes, and as sure as there is Life and Death in the world, you must act quickly."

"I will do as you ask. I see in your face that you know I can do nothing more now. I trust you."

The old man kissed her and hurried her into his room, and then turned the key in the lock. Coming quickly back to the Doctor, he opened the window and pushed the covering a little to the side. With his hand on the Doctor's arm, they looked out together into the yard.

There was a small crowd of men and women... not enough to fill the yard, no more than forty or fifty. The people who were in control of the house had let them in at the gate, and they had hurried to work at the stone wheel. It had been put there for them, in a quiet place where they could easily come to use it.

But such awful workers, and such awful work!

There were two handles on the big stone wheel, and two men worked at turning it. When their movements brought their heads up, and their long hair was thrown behind them, it could be seen that their faces were wild and cruel, with false hair over their eyes and under their noses to hide who they really were. The blood that was all over them, their need for sleep, and their crazy enthusiasm about what they were doing added to the wild ugly look. As they turned the wheel, first their hair would fall over their faces and then it would fly backward over their necks, with women holding wine to their mouths so that they could drink while working. Drops of blood fell from their bodies, drops of wine fell from the cups, and little pieces of fire came from the knives they were making sharp on the turning wheel. The whole picture was a mixture of evil fire and evil blood. There was not one of them who did not have blood on them. Men without shirts, and with blood on their bodies and on their clothes, shouldered each other to get close to the stone. Some of the men had tied to their clothes little pieces of beautiful cloth that they had taken from women, and these pieces of cloth had blood on them too. The axes, knives, and swords that they were making sharp on the stone were also covered in blood.

Some had broken swords tied to their wrists with pieces of cloth, and these pieces of cloth were also of the same red colour. As each weapon became sharp enough, its owner would turn back to the street with the same red colour in their wild eyes... eyes which anyone who was not crazy would have given twenty years of their life just to stop with a gun.

All of this one could see in a second, the way a drowning man sees his whole life, or the way that anyone could see the world if they were high enough above it. They pulled back from the window, and the Doctor looked to his friend's white face for answers about what was happening.

"They are," Mr. Lorry whispered as he looked back at Lucie's locked room, "killing their prisoners. If you are sure about what you say; if you really have the power you think you have... and I believe you do... make yourself known to these devils and ask them to take you to La Force. It may be too late, I don't know, but do not wait one minute longer!"

Doctor Manette squeezed his hand, hurried out without even taking a hat, and was already in the yard when Mr. Lorry returned to the window.

His long white hair, his wonderful face, and the confidence of his actions as he pushed the weapons to the side like water, carried him quickly to the heart of the action at the stone. The movement stopped and there was some talking, with the sound of the Doctor's voice above them all. Mr. Lorry could not hear what he was saying, but he saw a line of about twenty men side by side, with their hands on the shoulders of those on each side, join with Doctor Manette as they hurried out into the street shouting, "A prisoner from the old prison here! Help his family in La Force! Make room for the man from the old prison in front there! Save the prisoner Evremonde at La Force!" And a thousand shouts answered them.

He closed the window and the curtain with his heart racing, then hurried to tell Lucie that her father had left to find her husband, with help from the people. Little Lucie and Miss Pross were with her, but he was not surprised about this until much later when things were quieter, and he was watching them.

By that time, Lucie was almost asleep at his feet, still holding his hand. Miss Pross had put the child in Mr. Lorry's bed, and now her head was on the pillow beside her. Oh the long, long night, with the sad breathing of the poor wife! Oh the long, long night, with no return of her father and no news of how he was going!

Two more times the bell at the great gate sounded and the noise and action was repeated as the stone wheel turned and did its work. "What's that?” cried Lucie in fear. "Be quiet! The soldiers make their swords sharp there," said Mr. Lorry. "The place is owned by the people now, and used by the army. Be quiet and rest, my love."

Twice they came, but in the end, the workers became less enthusiastic. Soon after that, the people finished, and the morning started to show in the night sky. Only then did Mr. Lorry softly pull away from the holding hand, and carefully look out the window again. A man, so covered with blood that he could have been a badly hurt soldier fighting for his life in a field of dead bodies, was getting up from the ground beside the stone wheel and looking around with empty eyes. This tired killer soon saw in the weak light one of Sir's coaches, and walking roughly to that beautiful vehicle, he climbed in at the door, and shut himself up so he could take his rest on the expensive pillows inside it.

The great