s the wisest thing to expect, and the likeliest. But I think their
withdrawing is in your favour.«
    Loitering on the way out of court not being allowed, Jerry heard no more:
but left them - so like each other in feature, so unlike each other in manner -
standing side by side, both reflected in the glass above them.
    An hour and a half limped heavily away in the thief-and-rascal crowded
passages below, even though assisted off with mutton pies and ale. The hoarse
messenger, uncomfortably seated on a form after taking that refection, had
dropped into a doze, when a loud murmur and a rapid tide of people setting up
the stairs that led to the court, carried him along with them.
    »Jerry! Jerry!« Mr. Lorry was already calling at the door when he got there.
    »Here, sir! It's a fight to get back again. Here I am, sir!«
    Mr. Lorry handed him a paper through the throng. »Quick! Have you got it?«
    »Yes, sir?«
    Hastily written on the paper was the word ACQUITTED.
    »If you had sent the message, Recalled to Life, again,« muttered Jerry, as
he turned, »I should have known what you meant, this time.«
    He had no opportunity of saying, or so much as thinking, anything else,
until he was clear of the Old Bailey; for, the crowd came pouring out with a
vehemence that nearly took him off his legs, and a loud buzz swept into the
street as if the baffled blue-flies were dispersing in search of other carrion.
 

                                   Chapter IV

                                 Congratulatory

From the dimly-lighted passages of the court, the last sediment of the human
stew that had been boiling there all day, was straining off, when Doctor
Manette, Lucie Manette, his daughter, Mr. Lorry, the solicitor for the defence,
and its counsel, Mr. Stryver, stood gathered round Mr. Charles Darnay - just
released - congratulating him on his escape from death.
    It would have been difficult by a far brighter light, to recognise in Doctor
Manette, intellectual of face and upright of bearing, the shoemaker of the
garret in Paris. Yet, no one could have looked at him twice, without looking
again: even though the opportunity of observation had not extended to the
mournful cadence of his low grave voice, and to the abstraction that overclouded
him fitfully, without any apparent reason. While one external cause, and that a
reference to his long lingering agony, would always
