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作者: Charles Dickens

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Mr. Lorry's eyes were again attracted to his face. Taking note of
the wasted air which clouded the naturally handsome features, and
having the expression of prisoners' faces fresh in his mind, he
was strongly reminded of that expression.
"And your duties here have drawn to an end, sir?" said Carton,
turning to him.
"Yes. As I was telling you last night when Lucie came in so
unexpectedly, I have at length done all that I can do here. I
hoped to have left them in perfect safety, and then to have
quitted Paris. I have my Leave to Pass. I was ready to go."
They were both silent.
"Yours is a long life to look back upon, sir?" said Carton,
wistfully.
"I am in my seventy-eighth year."
"You have been useful all your life; steadily and constantly
occupied; trusted, respected, and looked up to?"
"I have been a man of business, ever since I have been a man.
Indeed, I may say that I was a man of business when a boy."

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