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 as on the trial evoke this condition from the depths of his soul, it was also in its nature to arise of itself, and to draw a gloom over him, as incomprehensible to those unacquainted with his story as if they had seen the shadow of the actual bastille thrown upon him by a summer sun, when the substance was three hundred miles away.