双城记 Book1-3a The Night Shadows
A Wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature isconstituted to be that profound secret and mystery to everyother. A solemn consideration, when enter a great city bynight, that every one of those darkly clustered housesencloses its own secret; that every room in every one of themencloses its own secret; that every beating heart in thehundreds of thousands of breasts there, is, if some of itsimaginings, a secret to the heart nearest it! Something of theawfulness, even of Death itself, is referable to this. No morecan I turn the leaves of this dear book that loved, and vainlyhope in time to read it all. No more can I look into thedepths of this unfathomable water, wherein as momentary lightsglanced into it, I have had glimpses of buried treasure andother things submerged. It was appointed that the book shouldshut with a spring, for ever and for ever, when I had read buta page. It was appointed that the water should be locked in aneternal frost, when the light was playing on its surface, andI stood in ignorance on the shore. My friend is dead, myneighbour is dead, my love the darling of my soul, is dead; itis the inexorable consolidation and perpetuation of the secretthat was always in that individuality, and which I shall carryin mine to my life's end. In any of the burial-places of thiscity through which I pass, is there a sleeper more inscrutablethan it busy inhabitants are, in their innermost personality,to me or than I am to them?
As to this, his natural and not to be alienated inheritancethe messenger on horseback had exactly the same possession asthe King, the first Minister of State, or the richest merchantin London. So with the three passengers shut up i' the narrowcompass of one lumbering old mail-coach; the were mysteries toone another, as complete as if each ha been in his own coachand six, or his own coach and sixty, with the breadth of acounty between him and the next.
The messenger rode back at an easy trot, stopping prettyoften at ale-houses by the way to drink, but evincing tendencyto keep his own counsel, and to keep his hat cocked over hiseyes. He had eyes that assorted very well with thatdecoration, being of a surface black, with no depth in thecolour or form, and much too near together--as if they wereafraid of being found out in something, singly, if they kepttoo far apart. They had a sinister expression, under an oldcocked-hat like a three-cornered spittoon, and over a greatmuffler for the chin and throat, which descended nearly to thewearer's knees. When he stopped for drink, he moved thismuffler with his left hand, only while he poured his liquor inwith his right; as soon as that was done, he muffled again.
No, Jerry, no!' said the messenger, harping on one theme ashe rode. `It wouldn't do for you, Jerry. Jerry, you honesttradesman, it wouldn't suit your line of business! Recalled--!
Bust me if I don't think he'd been a drinking!
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