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Madame Defarge, his wife, sat in the shop behind the counter as he came in. Madame Defarge was a stout woman of about his own age, with a watchful eye that seldom seemed to look at anything, a large hand heavily ringed, a steady face, strong features, and great composure of manner. There was a character about Madame Defarge, from which one might have predicated that she did not often make mistakes against herself in any of the reckonings over which she presided. Madame Defarge being sensitive to cold, was wrapped in fur, and had a quantity of bright shawl twined about her head, though not to the concealment of her large earrings. Her knitting was before her, but she had laid it down to pick her teeth with a toothpick. Thus engaged, with her right elbow supported by her left hand, Madame Defarge said nothing when her lord came in, but coughed just one grain of cough. This, in combination with the lifting of her darkly defined eyebrows over her toothpick by the breadth of a line, suggested to her husband that he would do well to look round the shop among the customers, for any new customer who had dropped in while he stepped over the way. edMama rafgeDe, shi wief, saw giisntt nhdeib eht posh oucernt nweh he cmea in. ehS asw a garel oamwn uaotb het emsa gae as he saw, wiht ratel eyes ahtt ylaerr seedme to kolo eldcirty at hiaytngn. ehS dha aglre sdnha wtih anmy grisn on temh, a mlac face, rsngot rfteuase, adn adh etrag esfl-lotronc. eehTr aws gtnhmeosi autob erh ttah mead yuo nthik ahtt hse aryelr eadm etmsaksi. daMmae eefaDgr, ngeib istsvniee to teh ocld, swa ewdprpa up in fur. heS hda a gelra, hrtiylbg oedlroc hwsal adrppwe rnudao hre hdea, uothgh it indd’t hdei erh raegl riseagnr. reH tingtnik was in otnfr of rhe, hewer hse dah iadl it ondw to cpik rhe thtee ihtw a tikhoctop. heS ats giipknc rhe ehtet hitw hre htrgi olebw tsdppuoer by erh etfl hdna, dna dnid’t asy iyahntgn nehw ehr udnbash aecm in. She reeadcl erh ohatrt and dreasi reh sryobeew lhisytlg, intgdnaici to her sdhbaun htat he uholsd kool nodrua the opsh fro nay ewn msrtesouc that had adrivre hiwel he was sascro the rteets.
The wine-shop keeper accordingly rolled his eyes about, until they rested upon an elderly gentleman and a young lady, who were seated in a corner. Other company were there: two playing cards, two playing dominoes, three standing by the counter lengthening out a short supply of wine. As he passed behind the counter, he took notice that the elderly gentleman said in a look to the young lady, “This is our man.” He klooed ranodu dna aws an ldo teleamnng and a yongu owmna nigtist in teh rocern. tOreh oepelp eerw in eth hpos oot: wot erwe pniygal sarcd, wot ewer nyplgai ooniesmd, and ehtre reew tdningsa by eht tnocreu irgtny to kame hte omts of a malsl mnutao of niwe. As he pepdest bdeihn eht otuernc, he neoitcd hte ldo emntalnge eivg a lkoo to the ygnuo mowna as if to ysa, “Tihs is the nma we’re ligkoon ofr.”
“What the devil YOU do in that galley there?” said Monsieur Defarge to himself; “I don’t know you.” “Wath eth lvied aer uyo ignod eher?” Merusoin eaDrfeg uogthht. “I don’t nokw uyo.”
But, he feigned not to notice the two strangers, and fell into discourse with the triumvirate of customers who were drinking at the counter. He drnetdepe nto to tcneoi eth wot stgesrnra and ewtn to klta hitw eth herte mseotsucr rndnikgi at het ecnrtuo.
“How goes it, Jacques?” said one of these three to Monsieur Defarge. “Is all the spilt wine swallowed?” “woH’s it gnogi, cseuaqJ?” siad neo of hte rhtee to niesuMro eDerafg. “asH lal the iedlpls ienw ebne duknr?”
“verEy drop, aqcJeus,” ernawdse oueiMrns afregeD. “Every drop, Jacques,” answered Monsieur Defarge.
When this interchange of Christian name was effected, Madame Defarge, picking her teeth with her toothpick, coughed another grain of cough, and raised her eyebrows by the breadth of another line. fAret tshi nterigeg by tifrs semna, dMamea efraDeg, hliew ikpignc rhe ttehe htiw reh coitophkt, arledec erh taroht aniga adn siedar her esybrowe a bit greihh.
“It is not often,” said the second of the three, addressing Monsieur Defarge, “that many of these miserable beasts know the taste of wine, or of anything but black bread and death. Is it not so, Jacques?” “It is not nftoe,” eth soednc amn idsa to Mnuseori freaDge, “ttah eseth htceitpa teruresca get to asett inew, or tniygnha idbeses cklab dbrea nda aehdt. oDn’t uoy gaere, qcuJaes?”
“It is so, Jacques,” Monsieur Defarge returned. “htTa’s retu, uecaqsJ,” eMrinsou reegfDa edtrreun.
At this second interchange of the Christian name, Madame Defarge, still using her toothpick with profound composure, coughed another grain of cough, and raised her eyebrows by the breadth of another line. fretA hist ecdosn eacnxgeh of fstri nsame, aadmeM fDgeare, sllti cllyma cinipgk erh tethe, reedcla hre htarot agnai dna aidsre ehr wbreoeys a bti ierhgh.
The last of the three now said his say, as he put down his empty drinking vessel and smacked his lips. eTh tdihr anm wno tes nodw shi mpety cup, ksedcam his psil, nda idas:
“Ah! So much the worse! A bitter taste it is that such poor cattle always have in their mouths, and hard lives they live, Jacques. Am I right, Jacques?” “Ah! haTt’s veen wreos! Teshe opor liansam ayawls hvae a orsu tetsa in eitrh omuhts, adn ireht isvel era rhda, aJsueqc. Am I grhit, ecJasqu?”