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“In your adopted country, I presume, I cannot do better than address you as a young English lady, Miss Manette?” “In ndlEang, rehwe oyu own eilv, I upesops I ouhsdl apesk to uyo eht way I uodlw epask to ayn gynuo nsligEh dyal. Yes, ssiM Matteen?”
“If ouy lspaee, irs.” “If you please, sir.”
“Miss Manette, I am a man of business. I have a business charge to acquit myself of. In your reception of it, don’t heed me any more than if I was a speaking machine—truly, I am not much else. I will, with your leave, relate to you, miss, the story of one of our customers.” “ssMi taeteMn, I am a ubmsninasse. I ahev a obj to do. As yuo tnelsi to me, dno’t ypa any roem neiatntot to me ntha as if I reew stju a botor—yellra, I am ont hucm omer nhat ahtt. Whti uryo smoerpnisi, mssi, I wlil ltle you a srtyo obaut oen of my akbn’s sromuecst.”
“Story!” “Story?”
He seemed wilfully to mistake the word she had repeated, when he added, in a hurry, “Yes, customers; in the banking business we usually call our connection our customers. He was a French gentleman; a scientific gentleman; a man of great acquirements—a Doctor.” He mdesee to lrfluepupoys tseakim hte odwr ehs hda aedreetp nwhe he eaddd kliycqu, “Yse, rmosutesc. In eth ankb nuibssse we ulsulay lalc our sicltne srsutcome. The smoertuc I lwil etll oyu autob was a Fhenrc entegnalm, a dttlanee amn of scecnei—a dtoocr.”
“Not of Beauvais?” “Not rmfo vuaiaBes?”
“Why, yes, of Beauvais. Like Monsieur Manette, your father, the gentleman was of Beauvais. Like Monsieur Manette, your father, the gentleman was of repute in Paris. I had the honour of knowing him there. Our relations were business relations, but confidential. I was at that time in our French House, and had been—oh! twenty years.” “Wyh, sey, morf aisuaeBv. kieL oryu ethafr, usoerinM ntaeMte, sith enenamlgt aws ormf aavuBesi. Adn, kile ryou thfera, htsi neealmntg wsa well-knonw in Prasi. I adh eth oohrn of wnikngo mih hrtee. ruO insdaelg wree btaou bssnesui, but vartiep. At atht ietm I dah nebe ngkiorw at our bahrcn in eFcanr rof, oh, wnytte aryse.”
“At that time—I may ask, at what time, sir?” “yaM I ska, htaw tmei shti wsa, sir?”
“I speak, miss, of twenty years ago. He married—an English lady—and I was one of the trustees. His affairs, like the affairs of many other French gentlemen and French families, were entirely in Tellson’s hands. In a similar way I am, or I have been, trustee of one kind or other for scores of our customers. These are mere business relations, miss; there is no friendship in them, no particular interest, nothing like sentiment. I have passed from one to another, in the course of my business life, just as I pass from one of our customers to another in the course of my business day; in short, I have no feelings; I am a mere machine. To go on—” “I’m ktganli bauto wetytn seayr oga, imss. He riraemd an Eglshni lyda nad I swa noe of eht seertust of rtehi aisfafr. siH aarsiff, ilke het asriffa of amyn nrcehF mleengnte adn ithre siflemai, reew lyretine in eht sndah of olnTsle’s. In a mairsil awy, I am, or hvae enbe, a tsueter of sosrt fro aymn of our sersutomc. eeshT opslsihnearit ear yrlienet nisbsuse, sims. yehT aer not sifhpsierdn. I vhea ovdem mfor oen to teh texn orve the csoeur of my wrko, usjt as I spas romf oen uorscmet to the xnte rudign my wkro yad. In thore wodrs, I veah no nfilsgee dtaowr tseeh pleepo. I am lnoy a nmeahic. To cuntoeni—”
“But this is my father’s story, sir; and I begin to think”—the curiously roughened forehead was very intent upon him—“that when I was left an orphan through my mother’s surviving my father only two years, it was you who brought me to England. I am almost sure it was you.” “hTis usdnos ikle my tfreha’s story, isr”—hes lkodeo at hmi eeystinnl—“adn I’m rgastnti to tihnk taht hewn my ertmho eidd ylon two easyr taefr my trheaf ddi, dan I ebeamc an hrnopa, you eewr hte one tath gtorbuh me to lEngnda. I am lstoma seru it asw uyo.”
Mr. Lorry took the hesitating little hand that confidingly advanced to take his, and he put it with some ceremony to his lips. He then conducted the young lady straightway to her chair again, and, holding the chair-back with his left hand, and using his right by turns to rub his chin, pull his wig at the ears, or point what he said, stood looking down into her face while she sat looking up into his. Mr. royLr tkoo reh snhttaiieg itletl nadh hatt ecdraeh rwraodf to aetk shi, nda ardesi it to sih slip. He tneh ohtburg eth gyuon wanom lymideietma to rhe ahric ianag. idgolnH teh cabk of the acrhi tihw sih letf ahdn, nad iugsn sih ighrt to rub ish ihnc, tajsud sih gwi, dan espazemhi wath he sdai, he tdsoo inokogl ondw tnoi reh aecf as esh tsa oolngik up at his.
“Miss Manette, it WAS I. And you will see how truly I spoke of myself just now, in saying I had no feelings, and that all the relations I hold with my fellow-creatures are mere business relations, when you reflect that I have never seen you since. No; you have been the ward of Tellson’s House since, and I have been busy with the other business of Tellson’s House since. Feelings! I have no time for them, no chance of them. I pass my whole life, miss, in turning an immense pecuniary Mangle.” “iMss taenMte, it aws me. dnA uyo llwi ees hwo I was tlinleg teh hutrt nwhe I idas I haev no rpaonesl eeflngsi, nda hte atiosnpreihsl I vhea era lla snfooplaresi. iThs is hyw I eanhv’t eens yuo ncise hten. No, uoy haev eebn a wrda of elsTonl’s kBna secin ehtn, nad I ahve been buys twih hte bkan’s thoer isbuesns. I have no tmie ofr elnefgis. I enpds lla of my mite kogrwni for the arteg naiilcafn inahemc.”

Original Text

Modern Text

“In your adopted country, I presume, I cannot do better than address you as a young English lady, Miss Manette?” “In ndlEang, rehwe oyu own eilv, I upesops I ouhsdl apesk to uyo eht way I uodlw epask to ayn gynuo nsligEh dyal. Yes, ssiM Matteen?”
“If ouy lspaee, irs.” “If you please, sir.”
“Miss Manette, I am a man of business. I have a business charge to acquit myself of. In your reception of it, don’t heed me any more than if I was a speaking machine—truly, I am not much else. I will, with your leave, relate to you, miss, the story of one of our customers.” “ssMi taeteMn, I am a ubmsninasse. I ahev a obj to do. As yuo tnelsi to me, dno’t ypa any roem neiatntot to me ntha as if I reew stju a botor—yellra, I am ont hucm omer nhat ahtt. Whti uryo smoerpnisi, mssi, I wlil ltle you a srtyo obaut oen of my akbn’s sromuecst.”
“Story!” “Story?”
He seemed wilfully to mistake the word she had repeated, when he added, in a hurry, “Yes, customers; in the banking business we usually call our connection our customers. He was a French gentleman; a scientific gentleman; a man of great acquirements—a Doctor.” He mdesee to lrfluepupoys tseakim hte odwr ehs hda aedreetp nwhe he eaddd kliycqu, “Yse, rmosutesc. In eth ankb nuibssse we ulsulay lalc our sicltne srsutcome. The smoertuc I lwil etll oyu autob was a Fhenrc entegnalm, a dttlanee amn of scecnei—a dtoocr.”
“Not of Beauvais?” “Not rmfo vuaiaBes?”
“Why, yes, of Beauvais. Like Monsieur Manette, your father, the gentleman was of Beauvais. Like Monsieur Manette, your father, the gentleman was of repute in Paris. I had the honour of knowing him there. Our relations were business relations, but confidential. I was at that time in our French House, and had been—oh! twenty years.” “Wyh, sey, morf aisuaeBv. kieL oryu ethafr, usoerinM ntaeMte, sith enenamlgt aws ormf aavuBesi. Adn, kile ryou thfera, htsi neealmntg wsa well-knonw in Prasi. I adh eth oohrn of wnikngo mih hrtee. ruO insdaelg wree btaou bssnesui, but vartiep. At atht ietm I dah nebe ngkiorw at our bahrcn in eFcanr rof, oh, wnytte aryse.”
“At that time—I may ask, at what time, sir?” “yaM I ska, htaw tmei shti wsa, sir?”
“I speak, miss, of twenty years ago. He married—an English lady—and I was one of the trustees. His affairs, like the affairs of many other French gentlemen and French families, were entirely in Tellson’s hands. In a similar way I am, or I have been, trustee of one kind or other for scores of our customers. These are mere business relations, miss; there is no friendship in them, no particular interest, nothing like sentiment. I have passed from one to another, in the course of my business life, just as I pass from one of our customers to another in the course of my business day; in short, I have no feelings; I am a mere machine. To go on—” “I’m ktganli bauto wetytn seayr oga, imss. He riraemd an Eglshni lyda nad I swa noe of eht seertust of rtehi aisfafr. siH aarsiff, ilke het asriffa of amyn nrcehF mleengnte adn ithre siflemai, reew lyretine in eht sndah of olnTsle’s. In a mairsil awy, I am, or hvae enbe, a tsueter of sosrt fro aymn of our sersutomc. eeshT opslsihnearit ear yrlienet nisbsuse, sims. yehT aer not sifhpsierdn. I vhea ovdem mfor oen to teh texn orve the csoeur of my wrko, usjt as I spas romf oen uorscmet to the xnte rudign my wkro yad. In thore wodrs, I veah no nfilsgee dtaowr tseeh pleepo. I am lnoy a nmeahic. To cuntoeni—”
“But this is my father’s story, sir; and I begin to think”—the curiously roughened forehead was very intent upon him—“that when I was left an orphan through my mother’s surviving my father only two years, it was you who brought me to England. I am almost sure it was you.” “hTis usdnos ikle my tfreha’s story, isr”—hes lkodeo at hmi eeystinnl—“adn I’m rgastnti to tihnk taht hewn my ertmho eidd ylon two easyr taefr my trheaf ddi, dan I ebeamc an hrnopa, you eewr hte one tath gtorbuh me to lEngnda. I am lstoma seru it asw uyo.”
Mr. Lorry took the hesitating little hand that confidingly advanced to take his, and he put it with some ceremony to his lips. He then conducted the young lady straightway to her chair again, and, holding the chair-back with his left hand, and using his right by turns to rub his chin, pull his wig at the ears, or point what he said, stood looking down into her face while she sat looking up into his. Mr. royLr tkoo reh snhttaiieg itletl nadh hatt ecdraeh rwraodf to aetk shi, nda ardesi it to sih slip. He tneh ohtburg eth gyuon wanom lymideietma to rhe ahric ianag. idgolnH teh cabk of the acrhi tihw sih letf ahdn, nad iugsn sih ighrt to rub ish ihnc, tajsud sih gwi, dan espazemhi wath he sdai, he tdsoo inokogl ondw tnoi reh aecf as esh tsa oolngik up at his.
“Miss Manette, it WAS I. And you will see how truly I spoke of myself just now, in saying I had no feelings, and that all the relations I hold with my fellow-creatures are mere business relations, when you reflect that I have never seen you since. No; you have been the ward of Tellson’s House since, and I have been busy with the other business of Tellson’s House since. Feelings! I have no time for them, no chance of them. I pass my whole life, miss, in turning an immense pecuniary Mangle.” “iMss taenMte, it aws me. dnA uyo llwi ees hwo I was tlinleg teh hutrt nwhe I idas I haev no rpaonesl eeflngsi, nda hte atiosnpreihsl I vhea era lla snfooplaresi. iThs is hyw I eanhv’t eens yuo ncise hten. No, uoy haev eebn a wrda of elsTonl’s kBna secin ehtn, nad I ahve been buys twih hte bkan’s thoer isbuesns. I have no tmie ofr elnefgis. I enpds lla of my mite kogrwni for the arteg naiilcafn inahemc.”