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A Tale of Two Cities

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“Now, Mr. Cruncher,” said Miss Pross, whose eyes were red with felicity; “if you are ready, I am.” “Now, Mr. Cruncher,” said Miss Pross, her eyes red from crying tears of joy, “I am ready if you are.”
Jerry hoarsely professed himself at Miss Pross’s service. He had worn all his rust off long ago, but nothing would file his spiky head down. Jerry told Miss Pross in his hoarse voice that he was ready. He had worn all of the rust off of his fingers a long time ago, but he still had spiked hair.
“There’s all manner of things wanted,” said Miss Pross, “and we shall have a precious time of it. We want wine, among the rest. Nice toasts these Redheads will be drinking, wherever we buy it.” “We need all sorts of things,” said Miss Pross. “And we will have a hard time getting them. We need wine along with everything else. These patriots in their red caps will be toasting and celebrating wherever we buy it.”
“It will be much the same to your knowledge, miss, I should think,” retorted Jerry, “whether they drink your health or the Old Un’s.” “It will all be the same to you, miss, if they toast to your health or to the Old One’s,” answered Jerry.
“Who’s he?” said Miss Pross. “Who’s he?” asked Miss Pross.
Mr. Cruncher, with some diffidence, explained himself as meaning “Old Nick’s.” “Mr. Cruncher, with some hesitancy, explained that he meant the devil.
“Ha!” said Miss Pross, “it doesn’t need an interpreter to explain the meaning of these creatures. They have but one, and it’s Midnight Murder, and Mischief.” “Ha!” said Miss Pross. “You don’t need an interpreter to explain what these people mean. It's always darkness, murder, and mischief.”
“Hush, dear! Pray, pray, be cautious!” cried Lucie. “Quiet! Please, please be careful what you say!” cried Lucie.
“Yes, yes, yes, I’ll be cautious,” said Miss Pross; “but I may say among ourselves, that I do hope there will be no oniony and tobaccoey smotherings in the form of embracings all round, going on in the streets. Now, Ladybird, never you stir from that fire till I come back! Take care of the dear husband you have recovered, and don’t move your pretty head from his shoulder as you have it now, till you see me again! May I ask a question, Doctor Manette, before I go?” “Yes, yes, yes, I’ll be cautious,” said Miss Pross. “But I can say privately that I hope there aren’t peasants smelling of onions and tobacco embracing each other everywhere in the streets. Now, Lucie, don’t move from that fire until I come back! Take care of the dear husband who has returned to you, and keep your pretty head on his shoulder, like it is now, until I get back. May I ask a question, Dr. Manette, before I go?”
“I think you may take that liberty,” the Doctor answered, smiling. “I think you can take that liberty,” the doctor answered, smiling.
“For gracious sake, don’t talk about Liberty; we have quite enough of that,” said Miss Pross. “For goodness sake, don’t talk about liberty. We have quite enough of that,” said Miss Pross.
“Hush, dear! Again?” Lucie remonstrated. “Quiet! Again?” Lucie protested.
“Well, my sweet,” said Miss Pross, nodding her head emphatically, “the short and the long of it is, that I am a subject of His Most Gracious Majesty King George the Third;” Miss Pross curtseyed at the name; “and as such, my maxim is, Confound their politics, Frustrate their knavish tricks, On him our hopes we fix, God save the King!” “Well, my sweet,” said Miss Pross, nodding her head vigorously. “To make a long story short, I am British and a subject of His Most Gracious Majesty King George the Third.” Miss Pross curtseyed when she said the name. “I say

'Confound their politics, Frustrate their knavish tricks, On him our hopes we fix, God save the King!'”

lines from the song “God Save the King,” the national anthem of the United Kingdom

'Confound their politics, Frustrate their knavish tricks, On him our hopes we fix, God save the King!'”
.
Mr. Cruncher, in an access of loyalty, growlingly repeated the words after Miss Pross, like somebody at church. Mr. Cruncher, being excessively patriotic, repeated the words in his hoarse voice as if he were at church.
“I am glad you have so much of the Englishman in you, though I wish you had never taken that cold in your voice,” said Miss Pross, approvingly. “But the question, Doctor Manette. Is there” —it was the good creature’s way to affect to make light of anything that was a great anxiety with them all, and to come at it in this chance manner—“is there any prospect yet, of our getting out of this place?” “I am glad that you take so much pride in being an Englishman, although I wish you had never caught that cold that makes your voice so hoarse,” said Miss Pross approvingly. “But the question is, Dr. Manette, is there any hope yet of us getting out of Paris?” Miss Pross had a way of talking about serious matters as if they weren’t serious at all. She would mention them casually, as if they just happened to come up in conversation.
“I fear not yet. It would be dangerous for Charles yet.” “Not yet, I’m afraid. It would still be dangerous for Charles.”
“Heigh-ho-hum!” said Miss Pross, cheerfully repressing a sigh as she glanced at her darling’s golden hair in the light of the fire, “then we must have patience and wait: that’s all. We must hold up our heads and fight low, as my brother Solomon used to say. Now, Mr. Cruncher! —Don’t you move, Ladybird!” “Hey-ho-hum!” said Miss Pross, cheerfully suppressing a sigh as she looked at Lucie’s blond hair in the light of the fire. “Then we must be patient and wait. That’s all we can do. We must hold our heads up and fight, as my brother, Solomon, used to say. Let’s go now, Mr. Cruncher! Stay here and don’t move, Lucie!”

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