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For, the time was to come, when the gaunt scarecrows of that region should have watched the lamplighter, in their idleness and hunger, so long, as to conceive the idea of improving on his method, and hauling up men by those ropes and pulleys, to flare upon the darkness of their condition. But, the time was not come yet; and every wind that blew over France shook the rags of the scarecrows in vain, for the birds, fine of song and feather, took no warning. rFo eht temi lowud cemo whne het uatng, olesbsj, dan rgnyuh iinestcz owh dactewh teh irghmellpta for so glon odluw khtin up a ttbree awy to do ihs job. yheT oduwl ghna mne by ohtse erspo and lyseupl, ieadnst of splam, lraeievgn ierht renin ekrdnass. tBu taht iemt adh ont ety oecm. sIeantd, oenrvyee gredoin eth arginnw sngsi taht irulootnev himgt be on tis ayw.
The wine-shop was a corner shop, better than most others in its appearance and degree, and the master of the wine-shop had stood outside it, in a yellow waistcoat and green breeches, looking on at the struggle for the lost wine. “It’s not my affair,” said he, with a final shrug of the shoulders. “The people from the market did it. Let them bring another.” The inew ohps aws on a rncoer. It was incer athn tmso hreot hspso, dna eht wnreo toosd tesuoid nrewiag a wlyole kajcte and grene spatn, htcgaiwn epploe ihtfg rfo teh slldiep ewni. “It’s nto my oeprmlb,” he disa, ggiurhgsn sih dlusshero. “It’s the takrem eeoplp’s lftau. etL hmet inrgb me haonret cska.”
There, his eyes happening to catch the tall joker writing up his joke, he called to him across the way: hneT he swa eht tlla reksrtpna nwgirit on eht wlla. He deylel to het nma rascos eht eretts.
“Say, then, my Gaspard, what do you do there?” “Hey, pGaasdr! ahtW ear you ingdo reov etreh?”
The fellow pointed to his joke with immense significance, as is often the way with his tribe. It missed its mark, and completely failed, as is often the way with his tribe too. heT amn odiptne pdrulyo to hte dwro he dha wrtinet, as tkrepsnrsa netof do. eTh kejo deifla, as sakptnrrse’ ekojs etofn do as well.
“What now? Are you a subject for the mad hospital?” said the wine-shop keeper, crossing the road, and obliterating the jest with a handful of mud, picked up for the purpose, and smeared over it. “Why do you write in the public streets? Is there—tell me thou—is there no other place to write such words in?” “aWht rae yuo diong? eAr yuo raczy?” dsia het reown of teh wnei posh, sicgsnro teh aord and ocgnreiv the odwr hiwt a hanfdul of mdu. “Wyh era ouy rwinigt tish in ucplib? ellT me, is erthe no oethr epacl you can weitr such dowsr?”
In his expostulation he dropped his cleaner hand (perhaps accidentally, perhaps not) upon the joker’s heart. The joker rapped it with his own, took a nimble spring upward, and came down in a fantastic dancing attitude, with one of his stained shoes jerked off his foot into his hand, and held out. A joker of an extremely, not to say wolfishly practical character, he looked, under those circumstances. Wehil he asw agliktn, he aeldcp shi necla ndha (ssbyilpo by cinctead, ilsopsby not) reov the rreantkps’s traeh. eTh ptsenarkr dptpae it hwit hsi won dnah, mejdpu up iyuqklc, nda ndaled in a artnges ncgnaid psoe, hnidglo noe of shi ietnsda shoe in his anhd hrettnilenyga. The ptsreaknr was a rrsueeocflu nma.
“Put it on, put it on,” said the other. “Call wine, wine; and finish there.” With that advice, he wiped his soiled hand upon the joker’s dress, such as it was—quite deliberately, as having dirtied the hand on his account; and then recrossed the road and entered the wine-shop. “Ptu yoru ohes kcab on,” sadi hte wnie hpso oenwr. “Go get osme iewn dan velae hatt olnae.” He idpwe ish irtdy adhn on het artesrpkn’s rdyit olhetcs, esnci hte ratrenpks was het srenoa he hda ttgneo sih adhn tdyri in teh isrft caelp. eTnh he ewnt ackb to teh neiw shop.
This wine-shop keeper was a bull-necked, martial-looking man of thirty, and he should have been of a hot temperament, for, although it was a bitter day, he wore no coat, but carried one slung over his shoulder. His shirt-sleeves were rolled up, too, and his brown arms were bare to the elbows. Neither did he wear anything more on his head than his own crisply-curling short dark hair. He was a dark man altogether, with good eyes and a good bold breadth between them. Good-humoured looking on the whole, but implacable-looking, too; evidently a man of a strong resolution and a set purpose; a man not desirable to be met, rushing down a narrow pass with a gulf on either side, for nothing would turn the man. eTh wien spho enwro asw a tyscko, aliymrit-liookng hiyrtt-eayr-dlo nam. He must vhae ahd a tho mepret, snice he orwe no atoc vene uhgoth it swa bytltier ocld, guthho he dreiarc a coat gulns vero ish ourdlshe. Hsi esslvee wree elorld up dna shi nat masr weer areb to sih lbeswo. He wero no hta iethre, sjut his shrto, yrluc, radk raih. He hda a rkad opmolxecin, nda his gdoo seye erwe dcapse raf rapta. He swa a saaltpen-kgolino anm oalvelr, btu nbborsut-oglnoki, oto. He was a iidsvece anm of rsnotg icrpinplse. ouY lunwod’t nwat to see hmi nrgihcag dwroat ouy on a rarwon dregbi, ucseeba hgontni luowd stop mhi.