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第10章（第2页）

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

them with the great keys and the feebly-burning candle, and found

them safe, and strong, and sound, and still, just as he had last seen

them.

But, though the bank was almost always with him, and though

the coach (in a confused way, like the presence of pain under an

opiate) was always with him, there was another current of

impression that never ceased to run, all through the night. He was

on his way to dig some one out of a grave.

Now, which of the multitude of faces that showed themselves

before him was the true face of the buried person, the shadows of

the night did not indicate; but they were all the faces of a man of

five-and-forty by years, and they differed principally in the

passions they expressed, and in the ghastliness of their worn and

wasted state. Pride, contempt, defiance, stubbornness,

submission, lamentation, succeeded one another; so did varieties

of sunken cheek, cadaverous colour, emaciated hands and figures.

But the face was in the main one face, and every head was