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Towards Soho, therefore, Mr. Stryver shouldered his way from the

Temple, while the bloom of the Long Vacation's infancy was still

upon it. Anybody who had seen him projecting himself into Soho

while he was yet on Saint Dunstan's side of Temple Bar, bursting

in his full-blown way along the pavement, to the jostlement of

all weaker people, might have seen how safe and strong he was.

His way taking him past Tellson's, and he both banking at

Tellson's and knowing Mr. Lorry as the intimate friend of the

Manettes, it entered Mr. Stryver's mind to enter the bank, and

reveal to Mr. Lorry the brightness of the Soho horizon. So, he

pushed open the door with the weak rattle in its throat, stumbled

down the two steps, got past the two ancient cashiers, and

shouldered himself into the musty back closet where Mr. Lorry sat

at great books ruled for figures, with perpendicular iron bars to

his window as if that were ruled for figures too, and everything

under the clouds were a sum.