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A Tale of Two Cities

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The lady in question, whose rooted conviction that she was more than a match for any foreigner, was not to be shaken by distress and, danger, appeared with folded arms, and observed in English to The Vengeance, whom her eyes first encountered, “Well, I am sure, Boldface! I hope YOU are pretty well!” She also bestowed a British cough on Madame Defarge; but, neither of the two took much heed of her. Miss Pross, who strongly believed she could handle any foreigner, wasn’t shaken or upset by being in a dangerous situation. She came in with her arms crossed and said in English to The Vengeance, whom she saw first, “Well, I am sure, Boldface! I hope you are doing well!” She also coughed at Madame Defarge in a British manner. Neither one of them paid much attention to her, though.
“Is that his child?” said Madame Defarge, stopping in her work for the first time, and pointing her knitting-needle at little Lucie as if it were the finger of Fate. “Is that Darnay’s child?” asked Madame Defarge. She stopped knitting for the first time and pointed her knitting needle at Little Lucie as if it were the finger of Fate.
“Yes, madame,” answered Mr. Lorry; “this is our poor prisoner’s darling daughter, and only child.” “Yes, madame,” answered Mr. Lorry. “This is our poor prisoner’s darling daughter and his only child.”
The shadow attendant on Madame Defarge and her party seemed to fall so threatening and dark on the child, that her mother instinctively kneeled on the ground beside her, and held her to her breast. The shadow attendant on Madame Defarge and her party seemed then to fall, threatening and dark, on both the mother and the child. The shadow of Madame Defarge and the other two fell on little Lucie in such a dark and threatening manner that her mother instinctively knelt down on the ground next to her and held her to her chest. The shadow seemed to fall on both the mother and her child.
“It is enough, my husband,” said Madame Defarge. “I have seen them. We may go.” “That’s enough, husband,” said Madame Defarge. “I have seen them. We can go.”
But, the suppressed manner had enough of menace in it—not visible and presented, but indistinct and withheld—to alarm Lucie into saying, as she laid her appealing hand on Madame Defarge’s dress: But her behavior was menacing enough—not in an obvious way, but hidden—to frighten Lucie. She took Madame Defarge’s dress in her hand and said:
“You will be good to my poor husband. You will do him no harm. You will help me to see him if you can?” “You will be good to my poor husband. You won’t hurt him. You will help me see him if you can?”
“Your husband is not my business here,” returned Madame Defarge, looking down at her with perfect composure. “It is the daughter of your father who is my business here.” “Your husband is not my business here,” answered Madame Defarge, looking down at her calmly. “It is you, Dr. Manette’s daughter, that is my concern.”
“For my sake, then, be merciful to my husband. For my child’s sake! She will put her hands together and pray you to be merciful. We are more afraid of you than of these others.” “For my sake, then, be merciful to my husband. For the sake of my daughter! She will pray that you are merciful to Charles. We are more afraid of you than we are of these others.”
Madame Defarge received it as a compliment, and looked at her husband. Defarge, who had been uneasily biting his thumb-nail and looking at her, collected his face into a sterner expression. Madame Defarge took it as a compliment and looked at her husband. Defarge, who had been biting his thumbnail nervously and looking at her, set his face in a stern expression.
“What is it that your husband says in that little letter?” asked Madame Defarge, with a lowering smile. “Influence; he says something touching influence?” “What did your husband say in that little letter?” asked Madame Defarge, smiling. “Influence. Something about influence?”
“That my father,” said Lucie, hurriedly taking the paper from her breast, but with her alarmed eyes on her questioner and not on it, “has much influence around him.” “That my father has a lot of influence on the people around him,” said Lucie. She took the paper quickly from her breast without looking away from Madame Defarge.
“Surely it will release him!” said Madame Defarge. “Let it do so.” “Surely his influence will get Charles released!” said Madame Defarge. “Let it!”
“As a wife and mother,” cried Lucie, most earnestly, “I implore you to have pity on me and not to exercise any power that you possess, against my innocent husband, but to use it in his behalf. O sister-woman, think of me. As a wife and mother!” “As a wife and a mother,” cried Lucie sincerely, “I beg you to take pity on me. Don’t use any of your power against my innocent husband, but use it to help him. Oh, my sister and fellow woman, think of me. I am a wife and a mother!”
Madame Defarge looked, coldly as ever, at the suppliant, and said, turning to her friend The Vengeance: Madame Defarge looked as coldly as ever at the pleading woman, and turning to her friend The Vengeance, said:
“The wives and mothers we have been used to see, since we were as little as this child, and much less, have not been greatly considered? We have known THEIR husbands and fathers laid in prison and kept from them, often enough? All our lives, we have seen our sister-women suffer, in themselves and in their children, poverty, nakedness, hunger, thirst, sickness, misery, oppression and neglect of all kinds?” “The wives and mothers we used to see, since we were as young as your daughter and much younger, have not been thought of. We have seen their husbands and fathers sent to prison and kept away from them enough times. All our lives we have seen our fellow women and their children suffer. They have suffered from poverty, nakedness, hunger, thirst, sickness, misery, oppression, and neglect of all kinds.”

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