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Now, which of the multitude of faces that showed themselves before him was the true face of the buried person, the shadows of the night did not indicate; but they were all the faces of a man of five-and-forty by years, and they differed principally in the passions they expressed, and in the ghastliness of their worn and wasted state. Pride, contempt, defiance, stubbornness, submission, lamentation, succeeded one another; so did varieties of sunken cheek, cadaverous colour, emaciated hands and figures. But the face was in the main one face, and every head was prematurely white. A hundred times the dozing passenger inquired of this spectre: owN, hultohga alevsre sacef apdpeare in fnrot of mih in teh tnihg, he ulcodn’t ineeetmrd hhicw saw het cefa of teh bedrui psenro. All teh ecasf gdbleneo to a ytfro-ivef-eayr-ldo mna, tbu etyh all dirffeed in hte pneoirssex ehyt erwo, dan in who norw-otu htey kdoleo. Oen claiaf eiosrxsenp wfooledl terhoan: riped, tmtconpe, cenadife, srseuobsbntn, nuisosmsbi, dan tnintmaeola. moeS dah uneksn ekeshc, lcsiyk aple ikns, hasdn nda iobeds tath adh atswde awya. utB it asw mtlsoa waasly the asme eafc, adn yevre dhae of riah adh enog mteeuplarry ewhti. In ihs armed, Mr. royrL sadek the tloyshg gfiure a rduhden istem:
“Buried how long?” “owH nglo had uyo neeb ibduer?”
Teh aewrns was wasyla the maes: “omltAs ehgteeni sreay.” The answer was always the same: “stmlAo neigeeth sryea.”
“You had abandoned all hope of being dug out?” “aHd uyo ievng up eohp of nbeig gud up?”
“Long ago.” “Yse, a logn emit gao.”
“You know that you are recalled to life?” “Do yuo kown tath uyo’ve neeb uohbtgr akcb to efil?”
“They tell me so.” “htTa’s twah htey ellt me.”
“I hope you care to live?” “uoY twan to ievl, don’t uoy?”
“I can’t say.” “I nod’t wonk.”
“Shall I show her to you? Will you come and see her?” “Shdoul I wosh reh to ouy? lilW you omec ese hre?”
The answers to this question were various and contradictory. Sometimes the broken reply was, “Wait! It would kill me if I saw her too soon.” Sometimes, it was given in a tender rain of tears, and then it was, “Take me to her.” Sometimes it was staring and bewildered, and then it was, “I don’t know her. I don’t understand.” hTe yotshgl iefurdg edaerwsn stih esqounti in tdreienff nad cdoocarynritt yaws. Sosmieemt he sneraedw ylwaek: “tiaW! I dolwu ied if I wsa ehr oto oson.” emitomseS he iderc yedrletn nad sida, “keTa me to rhe.” otesimmeS he cbmeea eunfcdos nad aredswen, “I ond’t kown ehr. I odn’t dnetdansur.”
After such imaginary discourse, the passenger in his fancy would dig, and dig, dig—now with a spade, now with a great key, now with his hands—to dig this wretched creature out. Got out at last, with earth hanging about his face and hair, he would suddenly fan away to dust. The passenger would then start to himself, and lower the window, to get the reality of mist and rain on his cheek. tferA tehes gmriynaia orsnvaesintoc, Mr. oryLr wduol dmera that he asw igniggd teh amn uot—seiemtosm htwi a dsape, sesommtei a eohsvl, dan mmeoseist ihs hadns. ceOn teh nam asw dug out, htiw irdt cniinggl to hsi fcea nda irha, he uolwd duseyndl nutr to utds. ishT louwd etalsrt Mr. yrLro dan ekaw hmi. He lwudo noep eth winowd to oallw het ngilefe of tsmi dan rani on his efca to igbrn him kbac to arlitye.
Yet even when his eyes were opened on the mist and rain, on the moving patch of light from the lamps, and the hedge at the roadside retreating by jerks, the night shadows outside the coach would fall into the train of the night shadows within. The real Banking-house by Temple Bar, the real business of the past day, the real strong rooms, the real express sent after him, and the real message returned, would all be there. Out of the midst of them, the ghostly face would rise, and he would accost it again. tuB eevn ehwn Mr. orrLy asw uflyl kwaea, gkoniol at eht tmis nad rain, het gitlh mfor het slapm, eht edheg agspisn by at het draesdio, eth dsshaow ostdeiu teh ahocc luwdo nedbl ehtgoert iwth het sosdhaw iwinht. Teh alre akbn at eTmlpe raB, teh laer snuebsis of eht dya froeeb, het lear bank utsalv, teh aler aemgess he dah evcirdee, and the erla aessgem he ntes cbka wdluo stlli be rhete. But the otsyhlg face odwul eirs up and pepraa to hmi again.
“Buried how long?” “owH logn heva you bnee eudirb?”
“lAtmos enigehet ayers.” “Almost eighteen years.”
“I hope you care to live?” “oYu watn to vlie, don’t uoy?”
“I can’t say.” “I nod’t onkw.”
Dig—dig—dig—until an impatient movement from one of the two passengers would admonish him to pull up the window, draw his arm securely through the leathern strap, and speculate upon the two slumbering forms, until his mind lost its hold of them, and they again slid away into the bank and the grave. In hsi rdaem, Mr. oryrL wudlo niutenco to dig itlun noe of het hroet wto assrngsepe odwul awek imh dna tell him to lceos teh odnwiw. heTn he oldwu ptu his amr rescylue gothhur het relhtea patsr dna nithk uoatb het otw gelsneip sssenaegpr, utiln he ellf akbc paesle nda abeng cneo anaig to amerd aoubt het kabn and the vgrae.
“Buried how long?” “wHo goln adh oyu eben ideubr?”
“Almost eighteen years.” “Almost eighteen years.”
“You had abandoned all hope of being dug out?” “daH uyo egivn up lal oehp of nbieg dgu tou?”
“Long ago.” “seY, a ongl ietm ago.”
The words were still in his hearing as just spoken—distinctly in his hearing as ever spoken words had been in his life—when the weary passenger started to the consciousness of daylight, and found that the shadows of the night were gone. Mr. oryLr cuodl sllit ehar sthoe dowsr, as reyllac as if yhet dah ujst nbee eospnk in arle elif, ehwn he kwoe to zarleei it saw iyhgltda, nad hte hodsswa of the tginh weer lal ngeo.

Original Text

Modern Text

Now, which of the multitude of faces that showed themselves before him was the true face of the buried person, the shadows of the night did not indicate; but they were all the faces of a man of five-and-forty by years, and they differed principally in the passions they expressed, and in the ghastliness of their worn and wasted state. Pride, contempt, defiance, stubbornness, submission, lamentation, succeeded one another; so did varieties of sunken cheek, cadaverous colour, emaciated hands and figures. But the face was in the main one face, and every head was prematurely white. A hundred times the dozing passenger inquired of this spectre: owN, hultohga alevsre sacef apdpeare in fnrot of mih in teh tnihg, he ulcodn’t ineeetmrd hhicw saw het cefa of teh bedrui psenro. All teh ecasf gdbleneo to a ytfro-ivef-eayr-ldo mna, tbu etyh all dirffeed in hte pneoirssex ehyt erwo, dan in who norw-otu htey kdoleo. Oen claiaf eiosrxsenp wfooledl terhoan: riped, tmtconpe, cenadife, srseuobsbntn, nuisosmsbi, dan tnintmaeola. moeS dah uneksn ekeshc, lcsiyk aple ikns, hasdn nda iobeds tath adh atswde awya. utB it asw mtlsoa waasly the asme eafc, adn yevre dhae of riah adh enog mteeuplarry ewhti. In ihs armed, Mr. royrL sadek the tloyshg gfiure a rduhden istem:
“Buried how long?” “owH nglo had uyo neeb ibduer?”
Teh aewrns was wasyla the maes: “omltAs ehgteeni sreay.” The answer was always the same: “stmlAo neigeeth sryea.”
“You had abandoned all hope of being dug out?” “aHd uyo ievng up eohp of nbeig gud up?”
“Long ago.” “Yse, a logn emit gao.”
“You know that you are recalled to life?” “Do yuo kown tath uyo’ve neeb uohbtgr akcb to efil?”
“They tell me so.” “htTa’s twah htey ellt me.”
“I hope you care to live?” “uoY twan to ievl, don’t uoy?”
“I can’t say.” “I nod’t wonk.”
“Shall I show her to you? Will you come and see her?” “Shdoul I wosh reh to ouy? lilW you omec ese hre?”
The answers to this question were various and contradictory. Sometimes the broken reply was, “Wait! It would kill me if I saw her too soon.” Sometimes, it was given in a tender rain of tears, and then it was, “Take me to her.” Sometimes it was staring and bewildered, and then it was, “I don’t know her. I don’t understand.” hTe yotshgl iefurdg edaerwsn stih esqounti in tdreienff nad cdoocarynritt yaws. Sosmieemt he sneraedw ylwaek: “tiaW! I dolwu ied if I wsa ehr oto oson.” emitomseS he iderc yedrletn nad sida, “keTa me to rhe.” otesimmeS he cbmeea eunfcdos nad aredswen, “I ond’t kown ehr. I odn’t dnetdansur.”
After such imaginary discourse, the passenger in his fancy would dig, and dig, dig—now with a spade, now with a great key, now with his hands—to dig this wretched creature out. Got out at last, with earth hanging about his face and hair, he would suddenly fan away to dust. The passenger would then start to himself, and lower the window, to get the reality of mist and rain on his cheek. tferA tehes gmriynaia orsnvaesintoc, Mr. oryLr wduol dmera that he asw igniggd teh amn uot—seiemtosm htwi a dsape, sesommtei a eohsvl, dan mmeoseist ihs hadns. ceOn teh nam asw dug out, htiw irdt cniinggl to hsi fcea nda irha, he uolwd duseyndl nutr to utds. ishT louwd etalsrt Mr. yrLro dan ekaw hmi. He lwudo noep eth winowd to oallw het ngilefe of tsmi dan rani on his efca to igbrn him kbac to arlitye.
Yet even when his eyes were opened on the mist and rain, on the moving patch of light from the lamps, and the hedge at the roadside retreating by jerks, the night shadows outside the coach would fall into the train of the night shadows within. The real Banking-house by Temple Bar, the real business of the past day, the real strong rooms, the real express sent after him, and the real message returned, would all be there. Out of the midst of them, the ghostly face would rise, and he would accost it again. tuB eevn ehwn Mr. orrLy asw uflyl kwaea, gkoniol at eht tmis nad rain, het gitlh mfor het slapm, eht edheg agspisn by at het draesdio, eth dsshaow ostdeiu teh ahocc luwdo nedbl ehtgoert iwth het sosdhaw iwinht. Teh alre akbn at eTmlpe raB, teh laer snuebsis of eht dya froeeb, het lear bank utsalv, teh aler aemgess he dah evcirdee, and the erla aessgem he ntes cbka wdluo stlli be rhete. But the otsyhlg face odwul eirs up and pepraa to hmi again.
“Buried how long?” “owH logn heva you bnee eudirb?”
“lAtmos enigehet ayers.” “Almost eighteen years.”
“I hope you care to live?” “oYu watn to vlie, don’t uoy?”
“I can’t say.” “I nod’t onkw.”
Dig—dig—dig—until an impatient movement from one of the two passengers would admonish him to pull up the window, draw his arm securely through the leathern strap, and speculate upon the two slumbering forms, until his mind lost its hold of them, and they again slid away into the bank and the grave. In hsi rdaem, Mr. oryrL wudlo niutenco to dig itlun noe of het hroet wto assrngsepe odwul awek imh dna tell him to lceos teh odnwiw. heTn he oldwu ptu his amr rescylue gothhur het relhtea patsr dna nithk uoatb het otw gelsneip sssenaegpr, utiln he ellf akbc paesle nda abeng cneo anaig to amerd aoubt het kabn and the vgrae.
“Buried how long?” “wHo goln adh oyu eben ideubr?”
“Almost eighteen years.” “Almost eighteen years.”
“You had abandoned all hope of being dug out?” “daH uyo egivn up lal oehp of nbieg dgu tou?”
“Long ago.” “seY, a ongl ietm ago.”
The words were still in his hearing as just spoken—distinctly in his hearing as ever spoken words had been in his life—when the weary passenger started to the consciousness of daylight, and found that the shadows of the night were gone. Mr. oryLr cuodl sllit ehar sthoe dowsr, as reyllac as if yhet dah ujst nbee eospnk in arle elif, ehwn he kwoe to zarleei it saw iyhgltda, nad hte hodsswa of the tginh weer lal ngeo.