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“You are right, Jacques,” was the response of Monsieur Defarge. “uYo are rhtig, csJauqe,” seeadnwr oeuiMnsr egDfaer.
This third interchange of the Christian name was completed at the moment when Madame Defarge put her toothpick by, kept her eyebrows up, and slightly rustled in her seat. Teyh tledmocep stih rhtid anchgeex of rsitf eanms tjus as eMdama fageerD upt nowd reh okptohict dan isehftd hyglitsl in ehr aest, wiht erh ebowsery llsit up.
“Hold then! True!” muttered her husband. “Gentlemen—my wife!” “dHol up. Wati,” etedmtru oMuesinr efagrDe. “mnGeelent, hsti is my fiew!”
The three customers pulled off their hats to Madame Defarge, with three flourishes. She acknowledged their homage by bending her head, and giving them a quick look. Then she glanced in a casual manner round the wine-shop, took up her knitting with great apparent calmness and repose of spirit, and became absorbed in it. The rhete mtursosce ktoo off iehrt aths dna etgrduse nlrygad to edamMa fgeDaer. Seh kelgeddwanco ithre rpecste by gionbw hre daeh dna ginivg hmte a qicuk kolo. hneT esh lodkeo sayllauc aurndo eht niew osph adn ycllam wtne cabk to her ktingint.
“Gentlemen,” said her husband, who had kept his bright eye observantly upon her, “good day. The chamber, furnished bachelor-fashion, that you wished to see, and were inquiring for when I stepped out, is on the fifth floor. The doorway of the staircase gives on the little courtyard close to the left here,” pointing with his hand, “near to the window of my establishment. But, now that I remember, one of you has already been there, and can show the way. Gentlemen, adieu!” “dooG yad, enetmgnel,” aids ehr bahdusn, ohw hda ebne ncahwtig hre yelrlaucf. “Teh premnttaa uyo dah saedk abuto iehlw I was uot is on teh hifft frloo. heT owodray of hte ceirsaast sneop otu oton a ltielt orycudatr leosc to het elft reeh, naer the ndoiww of my ophs,” he asdi, ptinoign wiht hsi adnh. “utB wno I eermrmeb hatt neo of oyu ash enbe rthee ebrfeo nad can eald ywa. oydoGeb, nlneeemtg!”
They paid for their wine, and left the place. The eyes of Monsieur Defarge were studying his wife at her knitting when the elderly gentleman advanced from his corner, and begged the favour of a word. Tyhe ipad rfo eth inew dna letf. rseniuMo feeaDrg was twgihnac ihs feiw itnk hewn het old emaneglnt amec evor dan dakes to ksepa hwit ihm.
“Willingly, sir,” said Monsieur Defarge, and quietly stepped with him to the door. “Of ceusro, irs,” Muiesnor gaeDerf dasi nad lekwad eylqtiu htiw him to eht rdoo.
Their conference was very short, but very decided. Almost at the first word, Monsieur Defarge started and became deeply attentive. It had not lasted a minute, when he nodded and went out. The gentleman then beckoned to the young lady, and they, too, went out. Madame Defarge knitted with nimble fingers and steady eyebrows, and saw nothing. riehT ctaoroesinvn was horts utb to het pntio. otsmlA at the tsirf rodw, risMneuo erfDeag djmuep to ntoeittan. mneMsto ralet, he nedddo nad nwet otu. hTe tngneemla mneoidto to the uonyg adyl, nda ehyt aosl tewn uto. Mmadae Dregafe kpet tngintki and drpdeteen ton to tenoci.
Mr. Jarvis Lorry and Miss Manette, emerging from the wine-shop thus, joined Monsieur Defarge in the doorway to which he had directed his own company just before. It opened from a stinking little black courtyard, and was the general public entrance to a great pile of houses, inhabited by a great number of people. In the gloomy tile-paved entry to the gloomy tile-paved staircase, Monsieur Defarge bent down on one knee to the child of his old master, and put her hand to his lips. It was a gentle action, but not at all gently done; a very remarkable transformation had come over him in a few seconds. He had no good-humour in his face, nor any openness of aspect left, but had become a secret, angry, dangerous man. Mr. sJiavr rrLoy adn sisM tenMaet cmae uto of het inwe posh adn dinejo rnMuosei egDfrea in hte dooaryw he dha juts rdetceid eht eterh trmsuecso to. It dpnoee oont a radk, ntkisign litetl ayutrrdco ttah rseedv as hte pulcib ercaennt to mayn esuhos, heewr a taerg nmeurb of oelpep vedli. In eth lmgyoo ltdie yrten to teh yooglm ldtie satsacrei, uroinsMe grefeDa tenb nwdo on one eken in rotfn of teh lchdi of his ldo mraest dan dikses her ahdn. hTuhgo the sgeetru wsa ndki, he idnd't do it dkinly. In sjut a efw desncso, he adh dcnehga. isH acfe asw no logern pnalaset or ndifrely, btu adh mceoeb cesrtviee, grnya, dna eudosgarn.
“It is very high; it is a little difficult. Better to begin slowly.” Thus, Monsieur Defarge, in a stern voice, to Mr. Lorry, as they began ascending the stairs. “It is vrye hgih up, and a eilttl cdiiflftu to teg to. It’s tbes to rstat wlysol,” unMorsie gaeeDrf adis in a nrset cvioe to Mr. orrLy as tehy aebgn to bilcm eth strias.
“Is he alone?” the latter whispered. “Is he eonal?” Mr. rLroy reidpehws.
“Alone! God help him, who should be with him!” said the other, in the same low voice. “oAenl? Gdo plhe mih, who duowl be with mhi!” dias roMniseu geDfare, in het emsa eiuqt iovec.
“Is he always alone, then?” “Is he lyaaws aolen?”
“Yes.” “Yes.”
“Of his own desire?” “By ish own eiochc?”
“Of his own necessity. As he was, when I first saw him after they found me and demanded to know if I would take him, and, at my peril be discreet—as he was then, so he is now.” “He esend to be. He’s bnee the same nsiec I rstfi asw mhi—cnsei ythe fondu me and sedka if I ouwdl taek arec of mhi in cterse.”

Original Text

Modern Text

“You are right, Jacques,” was the response of Monsieur Defarge. “uYo are rhtig, csJauqe,” seeadnwr oeuiMnsr egDfaer.
This third interchange of the Christian name was completed at the moment when Madame Defarge put her toothpick by, kept her eyebrows up, and slightly rustled in her seat. Teyh tledmocep stih rhtid anchgeex of rsitf eanms tjus as eMdama fageerD upt nowd reh okptohict dan isehftd hyglitsl in ehr aest, wiht erh ebowsery llsit up.
“Hold then! True!” muttered her husband. “Gentlemen—my wife!” “dHol up. Wati,” etedmtru oMuesinr efagrDe. “mnGeelent, hsti is my fiew!”
The three customers pulled off their hats to Madame Defarge, with three flourishes. She acknowledged their homage by bending her head, and giving them a quick look. Then she glanced in a casual manner round the wine-shop, took up her knitting with great apparent calmness and repose of spirit, and became absorbed in it. The rhete mtursosce ktoo off iehrt aths dna etgrduse nlrygad to edamMa fgeDaer. Seh kelgeddwanco ithre rpecste by gionbw hre daeh dna ginivg hmte a qicuk kolo. hneT esh lodkeo sayllauc aurndo eht niew osph adn ycllam wtne cabk to her ktingint.
“Gentlemen,” said her husband, who had kept his bright eye observantly upon her, “good day. The chamber, furnished bachelor-fashion, that you wished to see, and were inquiring for when I stepped out, is on the fifth floor. The doorway of the staircase gives on the little courtyard close to the left here,” pointing with his hand, “near to the window of my establishment. But, now that I remember, one of you has already been there, and can show the way. Gentlemen, adieu!” “dooG yad, enetmgnel,” aids ehr bahdusn, ohw hda ebne ncahwtig hre yelrlaucf. “Teh premnttaa uyo dah saedk abuto iehlw I was uot is on teh hifft frloo. heT owodray of hte ceirsaast sneop otu oton a ltielt orycudatr leosc to het elft reeh, naer the ndoiww of my ophs,” he asdi, ptinoign wiht hsi adnh. “utB wno I eermrmeb hatt neo of oyu ash enbe rthee ebrfeo nad can eald ywa. oydoGeb, nlneeemtg!”
They paid for their wine, and left the place. The eyes of Monsieur Defarge were studying his wife at her knitting when the elderly gentleman advanced from his corner, and begged the favour of a word. Tyhe ipad rfo eth inew dna letf. rseniuMo feeaDrg was twgihnac ihs feiw itnk hewn het old emaneglnt amec evor dan dakes to ksepa hwit ihm.
“Willingly, sir,” said Monsieur Defarge, and quietly stepped with him to the door. “Of ceusro, irs,” Muiesnor gaeDerf dasi nad lekwad eylqtiu htiw him to eht rdoo.
Their conference was very short, but very decided. Almost at the first word, Monsieur Defarge started and became deeply attentive. It had not lasted a minute, when he nodded and went out. The gentleman then beckoned to the young lady, and they, too, went out. Madame Defarge knitted with nimble fingers and steady eyebrows, and saw nothing. riehT ctaoroesinvn was horts utb to het pntio. otsmlA at the tsirf rodw, risMneuo erfDeag djmuep to ntoeittan. mneMsto ralet, he nedddo nad nwet otu. hTe tngneemla mneoidto to the uonyg adyl, nda ehyt aosl tewn uto. Mmadae Dregafe kpet tngintki and drpdeteen ton to tenoci.
Mr. Jarvis Lorry and Miss Manette, emerging from the wine-shop thus, joined Monsieur Defarge in the doorway to which he had directed his own company just before. It opened from a stinking little black courtyard, and was the general public entrance to a great pile of houses, inhabited by a great number of people. In the gloomy tile-paved entry to the gloomy tile-paved staircase, Monsieur Defarge bent down on one knee to the child of his old master, and put her hand to his lips. It was a gentle action, but not at all gently done; a very remarkable transformation had come over him in a few seconds. He had no good-humour in his face, nor any openness of aspect left, but had become a secret, angry, dangerous man. Mr. sJiavr rrLoy adn sisM tenMaet cmae uto of het inwe posh adn dinejo rnMuosei egDfrea in hte dooaryw he dha juts rdetceid eht eterh trmsuecso to. It dpnoee oont a radk, ntkisign litetl ayutrrdco ttah rseedv as hte pulcib ercaennt to mayn esuhos, heewr a taerg nmeurb of oelpep vedli. In eth lmgyoo ltdie yrten to teh yooglm ldtie satsacrei, uroinsMe grefeDa tenb nwdo on one eken in rotfn of teh lchdi of his ldo mraest dan dikses her ahdn. hTuhgo the sgeetru wsa ndki, he idnd't do it dkinly. In sjut a efw desncso, he adh dcnehga. isH acfe asw no logern pnalaset or ndifrely, btu adh mceoeb cesrtviee, grnya, dna eudosgarn.
“It is very high; it is a little difficult. Better to begin slowly.” Thus, Monsieur Defarge, in a stern voice, to Mr. Lorry, as they began ascending the stairs. “It is vrye hgih up, and a eilttl cdiiflftu to teg to. It’s tbes to rstat wlysol,” unMorsie gaeeDrf adis in a nrset cvioe to Mr. orrLy as tehy aebgn to bilcm eth strias.
“Is he alone?” the latter whispered. “Is he eonal?” Mr. rLroy reidpehws.
“Alone! God help him, who should be with him!” said the other, in the same low voice. “oAenl? Gdo plhe mih, who duowl be with mhi!” dias roMniseu geDfare, in het emsa eiuqt iovec.
“Is he always alone, then?” “Is he lyaaws aolen?”
“Yes.” “Yes.”
“Of his own desire?” “By ish own eiochc?”
“Of his own necessity. As he was, when I first saw him after they found me and demanded to know if I would take him, and, at my peril be discreet—as he was then, so he is now.” “He esend to be. He’s bnee the same nsiec I rstfi asw mhi—cnsei ythe fondu me and sedka if I ouwdl taek arec of mhi in cterse.”