Lorry flattened his flaxen wig upon his head with both hands (which
was most unnecessary, for nothing could be flatter than its shining
surface was before), and resumed his former attitude.

"So far, miss (as you have remarked), this is the story of your
regretted father. Now comes the difference. If your father had not
died when he did--Don't be frightened! How you start!"

She did, indeed, start. And she caught his wrist with both her hands.

"Pray," said Mr. Lorry, in a soothing tone, bringing his left hand
from the back of the chair to lay it on the supplicatory fingers that
clasped him in so violent a tremble: "pray control your agitation--a
matter of business. As I was saying--"

Her look so discomposed him that he stopped, wandered, and began anew:

"As I was saying; if Monsieur Manette had not died; if he had
suddenly and silently disappeared; if he had been spirited away;
if it had not been difficult to guess to what dreadful place, though
no art could trace him; if he had an enemy in some compatriot who
could exercise a privilege that I in my own time have known the boldest
people afraid to speak of in a whisper, across the water there; for
instance, the privilege of filling up blank forms for the consignment
of any one to the oblivion of a prison for any length of time; if his
wife had implored the king, the queen, the court, the clergy, for any
tidings of him, and all quite in vain;--then the history of your father
would have been the history of this unfortunate gentleman, the Doctor
of Beauvais."