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A Tale of Two Cities

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These were among the echoes to which Lucie, sometimes pensive, sometimes amused and laughing, listened in the echoing corner, until her little daughter was six years old. How near to her heart the echoes of her child’s tread came, and those of her own dear father’s, always active and self-possessed, and those of her dear husband’s, need not be told. Nor, how the lightest echo of their united home, directed by herself with such a wise and elegant thrift that it was more abundant than any waste, was music to her. Nor, how there were echoes all about her, sweet in her ears, of the many times her father had told her that he found her more devoted to him married (if that could be) than single, and of the many times her husband had said to her that no cares and duties seemed to divide her love for him or her help to him, and asked her “What is the magic secret, my darling, of your being everything to all of us, as if there were only one of us, yet never seeming to be hurried, or to have too much to do?” These were the sounds Lucie heard in the echoes. Sometimes she was thoughtful as she listened to them, and sometimes she was happy and laughing. This went on until her daughter was six years old. She cared very much about the echoes of her daughter’s steps, and her father’s, which were always active and self-controlled, and her husband’s. The faintest echoes of their house, which she ran with such smart, tasteful thrift that they had more than enough of what they needed, were music to her. There were echoes of her father telling her that he thought she had become even more devoted to him after marrying (if that were possible) than when she was single. There were echoes of the many times her husband had said that none of her worries or responsibilities had taken her love or help away from him and had asked her, “What magic is it that makes you able to be everything to all of us, as if there were only one of us? Yet, you never seem hurried or too busy.”
But, there were other echoes, from a distance, that rumbled menacingly in the corner all through this space of time. And it was now, about little Lucie’s sixth birthday, that they began to have an awful sound, as of a great storm in France with a dreadful sea rising. But there were other echoes that were rumbling off in the distance all this time. And it was around Little Lucie’s sixth birthday that they started to get louder, like a great storm in France with a dreadful sea rising.
On a night in mid-July, one thousand seven hundred and eighty-nine, Mr. Lorry came in late, from Tellson’s, and sat himself down by Lucie and her husband in the dark window. It was a hot, wild night, and they were all three reminded of the old Sunday night when they had looked at the lightning from the same place. One night in the middle of July 1789, Mr. Lorry came in late from Tellson’s Bank and sat down by Lucie and her husband in the dark window. It was a hot, wild night, and they were all reminded of that Sunday night years before when they had sat in the same place and watched the lightning.
“I began to think,” said Mr. Lorry, pushing his brown wig back, “that I should have to pass the night at Tellson’s. We have been so full of business all day, that we have not known what to do first, or which way to turn. There is such an uneasiness in Paris, that we have actually a run of confidence upon us! Our customers over there, seem not to be able to confide their property to us fast enough. There is positively a mania among some of them for sending it to England.” “I was starting to think that I’d have to spend the night at the bank,” said Mr. Lorry, pushing back his brown wig. “We were so busy all day that we didn’t know what to do first or where to go. There is such nervousness in Paris that there was actually a run to put money in Tellson’s Bank! Our customers in Paris can’t seem to transfer their property to us fast enough. They’re all practically mad about sending their valuables to England.”
“That has a bad look,” said Darnay— “That looks bad,” said Darnay.
“A bad look, you say, my dear Darnay? Yes, but we don’t know what reason there is in it. People are so unreasonable! Some of us at Tellson’s are getting old, and we really can’t be troubled out of the ordinary course without due occasion.” “Looks bad, you say, my dear Darnay? Yes, but we don’t know what sense there is in it. People can be so irrational! Some of us at Tellson’s are getting old and can’t be bothered with unusual things happening unless there’s a good reason for it.”
“Still,” said Darnay, “you know how gloomy and threatening the sky is.” “Still,” said Darnay, “you know how gloomy and threatening the situation is over there.”
“I know that, to be sure,” assented Mr. Lorry, trying to persuade himself that his sweet temper was soured, and that he grumbled, “but I am determined to be peevish after my long day’s botheration. Where is Manette?” “Don’t I know it,” agreed Mr. Lorry, trying to convince himself that he was just in a bad mood and that he was complaining. “But I want to complain after my long, annoying day. Where is Dr. Manette?”

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