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and his loose stockings, and all his poor tatters of clothes, had, in a long seclusion from direct light and air, faded down to such a dull uniformity of parchment-yellow, that it would have been hard to say which was which. ¡¡¡¡He had put up a hand between his eyes and the light, and the very bones of it seemed transparent. So he sat, with a steadfastly vacant gaze, pausing in his work. He never looked at the figure before him, without first looking down on this side of himself, then on that, as if he had lost the habit of associating place with sound; he never spoke, without first wandering in this manner, and forgetting to speak. ¡¡¡¡"Are you going to finish that pair of shoes to-day?" asked Defarge, motioning to Mr. Lorry to come forward. ¡¡¡¡"What did you say?" ¡¡¡¡"Do you mean to finish that pair of shoes to-day?" ¡¡¡¡"I can't say that I mean to. I suppose so. I don't know." ¡¡¡¡But, the question reminded him of his work, and he bent over it again. ¡¡¡¡Mr. Lorry came silently forward, leaving the daughter by the door. When he had stood, for a minute or two, by the side of Defarge, the shoemaker looked up. He showed no surprise at seeing another figure, but the unsteady fingers of one of his hands strayed to his lips as he looked at it (his lips and his nails were of the same pale lead-colour), and then the hand dropped to his work, and he once more bent over the shoe. The look and the action had occupied but an instant