Mr. Guppy casts up his eyes at the portrait of Lady Dedlock over the mantelshelf and replies, "Tony, you are asked to leave that to the honour of your friend. Besides its being calculated to serve that friend in those chords of the human mind which--which need not be called into agonizing vibration on the present occasion--your friend is no fool. What's that?"
"It's eleven o'clock striking by the bell of Saint Paul's. Listen and you'll hear all the bells in the city jangling."
Both sit silent, listening to the metal voices, near and distant, resounding from towers of various heights, in tones more various than their situations. When these at length cease, all seems more mysterious and quiet than before. One disagreeable result of whispering is that it seems to evoke an atmosphere of silence, haunted by the ghosts of sound--strange cracks and tickings, the rustling of garments that have no substance in them, and the tread of dreadful feet that would leave no mark on the sea-sand or the winter snow. So sensitive the two friends happen to be that the air is full of these phantoms, and the two look over their shoulders by one consent to see that the door is shut.

Mr. Guppy casts up his eyes at the portrait of Lady Dedlock and replies, "Tony, leave that to your friend, who is no fool. What's that?"
"It's eleven o'clock striking by the bell of Saint Paul's. Listen and you'll hear all the bells in the city jangling."
Both sit silent, listening to the metal voices, near and distant. When these at length cease, all seems more mysterious and quiet than before. The silence seems haunted by the ghosts of sound - strange cracks and tickings, the rustling of garments that have no substance and the tread of dreadful feet that would leave no mark. The air is full of these phantoms, and the two friends look over their shoulders to see that the door is shut.
