Two Cities

Chapter 4 Preparation (1)
The mail reached Dover in good order in the morning.The clerk of the King George Hotel opened the door of the mail coach as usual, with a gesture of decorum, for to be here by mail from London in winter is a commendable achievement.

At this time, there was only one passenger with a commendable spirit of adventure, and the other two had already got off the bus halfway.The musty compartment of the mail car was a bit of a doghouse, filled with dirty hay and air, and dimly lit.And Mr. Lorry, who got out of the car on the chain-like dry grass, was also shaking, bloated and ragged, with muddy legs and a drooping hat brim, very much like a big dog.

"Is there a steamer for Calais to-morrow, Mr. Accountant?" "As long as the weather holds and the wind is favourable. There will be a tide about two o'clock in the afternoon, and it will be easy to sail, sir. Would you like to book a berth?" gentlemen?"

"I don't sleep until night, but I'd better book a room and hope to find a hairdresser for me."

"Do you still have breakfast, sir? Yes, sir, everything is according to your order. Take this gentleman to Xiehexuan! Send the gentleman's box and hot water. When you enter the house, take off the gentleman first." Boots—with a cozy peat fire in them. Remember to arrange for a barber. All to the Concorde House."

The guest rooms of Xiehexuan are always occupied by mail passengers, and mail passengers usually pack themselves tightly.Therefore, there is a special scene in the Xiehexuan of the King George Hotel: entering the room in one form, and leaving the room in a different form.So another accountant, two doorkeepers, a few maids and the proprietress all pretended to stop by the passage between Xiehexuan and the coffee shop by chance, lingering and not leaving.Soon a gentleman of about sixty came out to have breakfast.The man was wearing a brown dress that is common in social occasions, with large square cuffs and a huge purse flap, old but well laundered.

The gentleman in the brown suit was the only one in the cafe that morning.His dining table was drawn up in front of the fireplace, and he sat there waiting for breakfast, with the fire shining on him as if he were being painted.

He looked serious, very prim.With his hands on his knees, a pocket watch ticked in the top pocket of his vest, as if to compare the frivolity and evanescence of the joyful flame with its own solemnity and longevity.The man had beautiful legs, which he was proud of, for they were tightly bound and gleaming in the good brown stockings, and the shoes and buckles were simple but exquisite.A small flaxen wig was tightly fastened on his head, with a special style, curly and shiny.It is said to be made of hair, but it looks more like it is spun from real silk or glass.His shirt was not as fine as his stockings, but it was bright white, like the waves breaking on the shore, like the white sails gleaming among the waves in the sun.The face was habitually tense and expressionless.But under the wonderful wig, the pair of shiny and bright eyes are extraordinarily dazzling.It seemed that the man had been trained for the inscrutable, moody expression of Tellson's Bank.His cheeks had a healthy flush, and his face was wrinkled but cheerful.This is probably due to work because the job of the single clerk who handles secret business at Tellson Bank is to solve other people's worries, and changing hands is like changing hands clothes, easy come and easy go!

Mr. Lorry seemed to have fallen asleep while maintaining that motion, and was awakened with a start by the breakfast that had been brought.He drew his chair closer to the table, and said to the accountant:
"I trouble you to arrange board and lodging for another lady. She will arrive today. She may come to inquire about Jarvis Lowry, or someone from Tellson's Bank. Please let me know."

"Yes, sir. Tellson's Bank in London, sir?"

"Yes." "Yes, sir. We have often had the pleasure of receiving your staff when they travel between London and Paris, sir. Tellson's has quite a few traveling staff." "Yes. We are the Bank of England, But a lot of it is French."

"I see, sir. I suppose you don't often travel in person, sir?"

"I haven't been out very often in recent years. It's been 15 years since we — I — last went to France."

"Is that true, sir? I wasn't working here then, sir. That was before our group, sir. The King George Hotel was owned by someone else then, sir."

"I'm sure it is." "But I'll bet you, sir, that a business like Tellson's Bank was in full swing--not fifteen years ago--perhaps fifty years ago?"

"It's three times more than that. It's not an exaggeration to say that it was 150 years ago." "Indeed, sir!" The waiter was dumbfounded, stepped back from the table, and put the napkin on his right arm on his left arm , and then stood calmly, as if standing on an observatory or an observation deck, watching the guests eat and drink, which is the habitual practice of waiters.

Mr. Lorry went for a walk on the beach after breakfast.The small town of Dover is narrow and curved, as if an ostrich trying to escape the wind and rain, threw itself into the cliff.Beaches are the product of a frantic battle between sea and stone.The sea has done what it wants to destroy.It has attacked cities with madness, it has attacked cliffs, and it has devastated coasts.There is a strong fishy smell floating among the houses, like the smell of fish being floated by fresh water.There are a small number of fishing boats in the harbor, and there are many people walking at night, looking at the sea view, and the tourists reach the peak when the tide is gradually rising and is about to fill up.Sometimes some peddlers who don't know how to do business make a fortune, but it's amazing that no one around here pays a lamplighter.

It was mid-afternoon, and sometimes the sky was clear enough to see the fog and moisture deepening in the air of the French coast.Mr. Lorry's thoughts were like the air.At dusk, he sat in front of the fireplace in the coffee room again, still waiting for dinner as if he was waiting for someone to paint his portrait. At this time, what he thought of was that he was digging in a hurry again, digging, digging, and he was very busy. Dig in burning coal.

A bottle of good red wine after the meal brought him back from memory to reality without hindrance.Mr. Lorry, who had been at his leisure for a long time, drank his last glass contentedly.The elderly gentleman, whose countenance glowed from a full bottle of wine, was content.At this time, there was the sound of rattling wheels on the narrow street, and then the sound of rumbling cars rang into the yard.

He put down the glass of wine that he hadn't had time to drink. "Miss is here!" he said.

In a few moments the waiter came in to report that Miss Manette had arrived from London, and was very pleased to see Mr. Tellson's Bank.

"Come so soon?" Miss Manette had already had a snack on the way, and didn't want to eat, but was just anxious to see Mr. Tellson's Bank—if he would like to meet now.

Mr. Tellson's Bank was very reluctant, so he had to quickly down his last glass of wine, straightened his strange little yellowish wig, and was led by the waiter to Miss Manette's room.It was a big, gloomy room, furnished like a funeral with black horsehair furniture and a heavy black table.Those tables have been painted many times too.The two tall candles placed on the table in the middle of the big room could barely illuminate one table, as if they were buried in the black mahogany grave, and they would not shine unless they were dug up.

The darkness seemed impenetrable. When Mr. Lorry walked on thin ice on the worn Turkish carpet, he thought for a moment that Miss Manette was in the next room. It was not until he passed the two candles that he saw a woman under 17 years old. The year-old lady was standing at the table to greet him.The lady was wearing a riding cape, and was holding the strap of her traveling straw hat.He looked at the petite and beautiful body in front of him, with fluffy golden hair, a pair of questioning eyes from her eyes, and a forehead that was so young and clean, but had such a unique charm, and could be retracted freely.The expression on the forehead seems to be confusion, bewilderment, or surprise, perhaps also a kind of intelligent and concentrated concentration, and it is impossible to include these four expressions.When he saw these, he immediately felt a sense of deja vu.She was the one—the child he had held in his arms as he crossed that strait.It was a very cold day, with hail flashing across the sky and the turbid waves emptying the sea.The impression disappeared, as if the water vapor had evaporated.On the frame, it looks like a group of dark-skinned little Cupids visiting patients in the hospital, all without limbs, some even without heads, offering black flower baskets full of Dead Sea fruits to the dark-skinned goddess—he asked Manette The lady bowed politely.

"Please sit down, sir." The young voice was very clear and sweet, with a foreign accent.

"Permit me to kiss your hand, miss," said Mr. Lorry, bowing formally according to the old custom, before sitting down.

"I had a letter from the bank yesterday, sir. Informing me of a news--or a discovery--"

"It doesn't matter, both names are acceptable." "It's about a small fortune left by my poor father, who's been dead for so many years that I haven't seen him," Mr. Lorry said in He moved his body on the chair, and looked at the visiting team of the little black Cupid with a troubled look, as if there would be something useful to others in their ridiculous basket.

"I must therefore go to Paris. I shall see a gentleman from a bank. The gentleman is very nice, and he is going to Paris on this matter."

"You should be talking about me." "I guessed it, sir."

She curtseyed to him (it was a tradition among young women in those days) and she expressed, tenderly and lovingly, that she thought he was much older than she was.He saluted her again.

"I said to the bank that since the person who knew the matter and kindly notified me thought it necessary for me to go to France, but since I was an orphan I had no relatives or friends to go with me, if I could get the lovely lady on the trip I am very grateful for the protection of my dear sir. The gentleman has left London, but I think a messenger has been sent to tell him to wait for me here." "I will gladly accept the request," said Mr. Lorry. Said, "Better to run for it." "Sir, I do thank you, thank you with all my heart. The bank told me that the gentleman would explain these things to me and prepare me because it was Something extraordinary. I'm mentally prepared. I can't wait to know the truth."

"Yes," said Mr. Lorry. "Yes—I—" He paused, smoothing the shaggy wig around his ears. "I really don't know where to start with this matter." He didn't start talking right away, but looked at her hesitantly.The young brow was raised in a characteristic expression--unique, beautiful, and character--and she raised her hand, as if to catch or stop some fleeting shadow.

"You haven't seen me before, have you, sir?" "Have we?" Rory spread his arms and hands, with a contentious smile.Between her brows and above her small female nose was a thin wrinkle that couldn't be more faded.She had been standing by a chair and sat down thoughtfully on it.Looking at her lost in thought, he went on:
"I think I'll have to call you Miss England Manette if I'm going to do as the Romans do."

(End of this chapter)