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A Tale of Two Cities

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“Ay, ay, why not!” cried the sawyer. “Every day, in all weathers, from two to four, always signalling, sometimes with the little one, sometimes without. I know what I know. I have seen with my eyes.” “Yes, yes. Why not?” cried the wood sawyer. “Every day, in any weather, from two to four o’clock, she was always signaling. Sometimes she came with her daughter; sometimes she did not. I know what I know. I saw it with my own eyes.”
He made all manner of gestures while he spoke, as if in incidental imitation of some few of the great diversity of signals that he had never seen. He made all sorts of gestures as he spoke, as if he were imitating a few of the different signals that he had never actually seen Lucie make.
“Clearly plots,” said Jacques Three. “Transparently!” “Clearly they were forming plots,” said Jacques Three. “It couldn’t be more clear!”
“There is no doubt of the Jury?” inquired Madame Defarge, letting her eyes turn to him with a gloomy smile. “Can we be sure the jury will convict her?” asked Madame Defarge. She looked at him with a gloomy smile.
“Rely upon the patriotic Jury, dear citizeness. I answer for my fellow-Jurymen.” “You can count on the patriotic jury, citizeness. I speak for my fellow jurymen.”
“Now, let me see,” said Madame Defarge, pondering again. “Yet once more! Can I spare this Doctor to my husband? I have no feeling either way. Can I spare him?” “Now, let me see,” said Madame Defarge, thinking it over again. “Let me think it over just once more. Can I let this doctor live for my husband’s sake? I don’t care either way. Can I spare him?”
“He would count as one head,” observed Jacques Three, in a low voice. “We really have not heads enough; it would be a pity, I think.” “He would be one more head,” said Jacques Three quietly. “We really don’t have enough heads as it is. It would be a pity to let him live, I think.”
“He was signalling with her when I saw her,” argued Madame Defarge; “I cannot speak of one without the other; and I must not be silent, and trust the case wholly to him, this little citizen here. For, I am not a bad witness.” “He was signaling to the prisoners with Lucie when I saw her,” argued Madame Defarge. “I can’t accuse one without accusing the other, and I can’t keep quiet and put the whole case in this little citizen’s hands,” she said, pointing to the wood sawyer. “I’m not a bad witness.”
The Vengeance and Jacques Three vied with each other in their fervent protestations that she was the most admirable and marvellous of witnesses. The little citizen, not to be outdone, declared her to be a celestial witness. The Vengeance and Jacques Three both tried to outdo each other in saying that she was the most admirable and marvelous witness. The little wood sawyer didn’t want to be outdone and called her a celestial witness.
“He must take his chance,” said Madame Defarge. “No, I cannot spare him! You are engaged at three o’clock; you are going to see the batch of to-day executed.—You?” “He must take his chances,” said Madame Defarge. “No, I cannot spare him. You are busy at three o’clock. You are going to see the people who are to be executed today. You?”
The question was addressed to the wood-sawyer, who hurriedly replied in the affirmative: seizing the occasion to add that he was the most ardent of Republicans, and that he would be in effect the most desolate of Republicans, if anything prevented him from enjoying the pleasure of smoking his afternoon pipe in the contemplation of the droll national barber. He was so very demonstrative herein, that he might have been suspected (perhaps was, by the dark eyes that looked contemptuously at him out of Madame Defarge’s head) of having his small individual fears for his own personal safety, every hour in the day. She asked this to the wood sawyer. He hurriedly said yes and took this opportunity to say that he was a passionate Republican and that he would be the saddest of Republicans if anything stopped him from enjoying the pleasure of smoking his afternoon pipe while watching people killed at the guillotine. He was so passionate about it that he might have been suspected of fearing for his own personal safety at all times, and perhaps Madame Defarge did suspect him as she looked at him angrily with her dark eyes.
“I,” said madame, “am equally engaged at the same place. After it is over—say at eight to-night—come you to me, in Saint Antoine, and we will give information against these people at my Section.” “I will be doing the same thing there,” said madame. “After it’s over—let’s say at eight o’clock tonight—come to see me in Saint Antoine and we will go accuse these people at my Section.”
The wood-sawyer said he would be proud and flattered to attend the citizeness. The citizeness looking at him, he became embarrassed, evaded her glance as a small dog would have done, retreated among his wood, and hid his confusion over the handle of his saw. The wood sawyer said he would be proud and flattered to go with Madame Defarge. Madame Defarge looked at him, and he became embarrassed. He avoided her look as if he were a small dog and hid his confusion by returning to sawing wood.
Madame Defarge beckoned the Juryman and The Vengeance a little nearer to the door, and there expounded her further views to them thus: Madame Defarge beckoned to Jacques Three and The Vengeance to come closer to the door, and then she elaborated on her thoughts:
“She will now be at home, awaiting the moment of his death. She will be mourning and grieving. She will be in a state of mind to impeach the justice of the Republic. She will be full of sympathy with its enemies. I will go to her.” “She will be at home now, waiting for him to be executed, mourning and grieving. She will want to accuse the Republic of injustice, and she will be sympathetic with the enemies of the Republic. I will go see her.”

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