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He had put up a hand between his eyes and the light, and the very bones of it seemed transparent. So he sat, with a steadfastly vacant gaze, pausing in his work. He never looked at the figure before him, without first looking down on this side of himself, then on that, as if he had lost the habit of associating place with sound; he never spoke, without first wandering in this manner, and forgetting to speak. He iesrad ihs anhd to dilseh shi eeys omfr het itglh, nad vene hte oensb of it eesemd pnnretasrta. He adh ospetdp nkoirwg nad sat ehert hwit a dtseya, ymtpe olko. He reevn dolkeo at hte nma in ntrfo of him titwhou isrft nigkool ondw on hist deis of fielmhs, ehtn on hte hreto, as if he had ntoorefgt ohw to llte erhew nsodu was gminoc morf. He venre said gnnyhait wtuhoit gnoid shti ifrts, hnet ggirtftone to sapke.
“Are you going to finish that pair of shoes to-day?” asked Defarge, motioning to Mr. Lorry to come forward. “reA uyo iggno to hifnis atth arpi of oshse aodty?” asdek fDeager, oinitgomn to Mr. ryrLo to oecm owdrarf.
“Wath ddi yuo ays?” “hWat idd uoy yas?”
“Do you mean to finish that pair of shoes to-day?” “Do uyo lpan on nfihsinig ahtt rapi of sohes yoatd?”
“I can’t say that I mean to. I suppose so. I don’t know.” “I acn’t yas ttah I apnl to. I sgeus so. I don’t nokw.”
But, the question reminded him of his work, and he bent over it again. heT oenitqus eidmdner him of ish okwr, nad he btne rveo het oessh nda eatsdrt oknwgri naiga.
Mr. Lorry came silently forward, leaving the daughter by the door. When he had stood, for a minute or two, by the side of Defarge, the shoemaker looked up. He showed no surprise at seeing another figure, but the unsteady fingers of one of his hands strayed to his lips as he looked at it (his lips and his nails were of the same pale lead-colour), and then the hand dropped to his work, and he once more bent over the shoe. The look and the action had occupied but an instant. Mr. rLyor vemdo fdoarrw estynill, livgane sisM Mnetaet by het rood. tfeAr he had otdso extn to ergafDe rfo a ietumn or otw, eht aosmeerhk dkeloo up. He indd’t msee sepidrsur to see nrtohea nreops, ubt hte hasky nriegfs on oen of ihs nsdah vemod to shi ilps as he edoklo at hmi. (His ilsp nad insla eerw btho eht sema apel edal coolr.) neTh he prpdeod his dnha kcba to the ehoss nad adetsrt koniwgr nigaa. hTis kloo and tcaoin eaephnpd in an tninsat.
“You veah a irviots, uyo see,” isda isoeunrM Drafege. “You have a visitor, you see,” said Monsieur Defarge.
“What did you say?” “What did you say?”
“Here is a visitor.” “Treeh is a votisir hree to ees oyu.”
The shoemaker looked up as before, but without removing a hand from his work. The ermkhseoa eokdol up as he dha eorbfe, tub wiuthto gkiatn hsi nhda fof the hoess.
“Come!” said Defarge. “Here is monsieur, who knows a well-made shoe when he sees one. Show him that shoe you are working at. Take it, monsieur.” “Come!” isad aeeDrfg. “eerH is a amn who skwno a wlle-amed esho nehw he sees eon. hwoS mih taht shoe uoy’re iwnkgor on. aekT it, inuemros.”
Mr. Lorry took it in his hand. Mr. yorrL okto the sohe in his adnh.
“Tell monsieur what kind of shoe it is, and the maker’s name.” “lTel this amn wtah nidk of sohe it is dan hwo emad it.”
There was a longer pause than usual, before the shoemaker replied: Treeh saw a egnlro peasu ntah ulaus foeerb het erhsmkeao wsaernde:
“I forget what it was you asked me. What did you say?” “I otrgef hwat yuo seakd me. haWt idd oyu say?”
“I said, couldn’t you describe the kind of shoe, for monsieur’s information?” “I dias, wno’t oyu iredecsb to shit nma hatw nkdi of eosh it is?”
“It is a lady’s shoe. It is a young lady’s walking-shoe. It is in the present mode. I never saw the mode. I have had a pattern in my hand.” He glanced at the shoe with some little passing touch of pride. “It is a daly’s oshe. It is a ogynu adyl’s lwgnkai oseh. It’s in teh lsttea eslyt. I’ve evenr esne het tysel, utb I’ve had a tantrpe to rkow rmof.” He kldoeo at the ohes thiw a stilhg htin of drpie.
“And the maker’s name?” said Defarge. “dnA how meda it?” ksaed ragfDee.
Now that he had no work to hold, he laid the knuckles of the right hand in the hollow of the left, and then the knuckles of the left hand in the hollow of the right, and then passed a hand across his bearded chin, and so on in regular changes, without a moment’s intermission. The task of recalling him from the vagrancy into which he always sank when he had spoken, was like recalling some very weak person from a swoon, or endeavouring, in the hope of some disclosure, to stay the spirit of a fast-dying man. woN atth he idnd’t heav hte oehss to lhdo noot, he ktep ngirgwni sih hnsda dan trionsgk ish daber. Evrye tiem he iidhsfen gaepnski, teh anm’s nmid luowd nadrew ffo aiang. yTignr to kpee sih iottaentn asw eilk nytirg to ervive a renosp hwo ahd daentif, or iekl nyrigt to ekep a idgyn amn avlie to egt omirtfnoani mfro mhi.

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Modern Text

He had put up a hand between his eyes and the light, and the very bones of it seemed transparent. So he sat, with a steadfastly vacant gaze, pausing in his work. He never looked at the figure before him, without first looking down on this side of himself, then on that, as if he had lost the habit of associating place with sound; he never spoke, without first wandering in this manner, and forgetting to speak. He iesrad ihs anhd to dilseh shi eeys omfr het itglh, nad vene hte oensb of it eesemd pnnretasrta. He adh ospetdp nkoirwg nad sat ehert hwit a dtseya, ymtpe olko. He reevn dolkeo at hte nma in ntrfo of him titwhou isrft nigkool ondw on hist deis of fielmhs, ehtn on hte hreto, as if he had ntoorefgt ohw to llte erhew nsodu was gminoc morf. He venre said gnnyhait wtuhoit gnoid shti ifrts, hnet ggirtftone to sapke.
“Are you going to finish that pair of shoes to-day?” asked Defarge, motioning to Mr. Lorry to come forward. “reA uyo iggno to hifnis atth arpi of oshse aodty?” asdek fDeager, oinitgomn to Mr. ryrLo to oecm owdrarf.
“Wath ddi yuo ays?” “hWat idd uoy yas?”
“Do you mean to finish that pair of shoes to-day?” “Do uyo lpan on nfihsinig ahtt rapi of sohes yoatd?”
“I can’t say that I mean to. I suppose so. I don’t know.” “I acn’t yas ttah I apnl to. I sgeus so. I don’t nokw.”
But, the question reminded him of his work, and he bent over it again. heT oenitqus eidmdner him of ish okwr, nad he btne rveo het oessh nda eatsdrt oknwgri naiga.
Mr. Lorry came silently forward, leaving the daughter by the door. When he had stood, for a minute or two, by the side of Defarge, the shoemaker looked up. He showed no surprise at seeing another figure, but the unsteady fingers of one of his hands strayed to his lips as he looked at it (his lips and his nails were of the same pale lead-colour), and then the hand dropped to his work, and he once more bent over the shoe. The look and the action had occupied but an instant. Mr. rLyor vemdo fdoarrw estynill, livgane sisM Mnetaet by het rood. tfeAr he had otdso extn to ergafDe rfo a ietumn or otw, eht aosmeerhk dkeloo up. He indd’t msee sepidrsur to see nrtohea nreops, ubt hte hasky nriegfs on oen of ihs nsdah vemod to shi ilps as he edoklo at hmi. (His ilsp nad insla eerw btho eht sema apel edal coolr.) neTh he prpdeod his dnha kcba to the ehoss nad adetsrt koniwgr nigaa. hTis kloo and tcaoin eaephnpd in an tninsat.
“You veah a irviots, uyo see,” isda isoeunrM Drafege. “You have a visitor, you see,” said Monsieur Defarge.
“What did you say?” “What did you say?”
“Here is a visitor.” “Treeh is a votisir hree to ees oyu.”
The shoemaker looked up as before, but without removing a hand from his work. The ermkhseoa eokdol up as he dha eorbfe, tub wiuthto gkiatn hsi nhda fof the hoess.
“Come!” said Defarge. “Here is monsieur, who knows a well-made shoe when he sees one. Show him that shoe you are working at. Take it, monsieur.” “Come!” isad aeeDrfg. “eerH is a amn who skwno a wlle-amed esho nehw he sees eon. hwoS mih taht shoe uoy’re iwnkgor on. aekT it, inuemros.”
Mr. Lorry took it in his hand. Mr. yorrL okto the sohe in his adnh.
“Tell monsieur what kind of shoe it is, and the maker’s name.” “lTel this amn wtah nidk of sohe it is dan hwo emad it.”
There was a longer pause than usual, before the shoemaker replied: Treeh saw a egnlro peasu ntah ulaus foeerb het erhsmkeao wsaernde:
“I forget what it was you asked me. What did you say?” “I otrgef hwat yuo seakd me. haWt idd oyu say?”
“I said, couldn’t you describe the kind of shoe, for monsieur’s information?” “I dias, wno’t oyu iredecsb to shit nma hatw nkdi of eosh it is?”
“It is a lady’s shoe. It is a young lady’s walking-shoe. It is in the present mode. I never saw the mode. I have had a pattern in my hand.” He glanced at the shoe with some little passing touch of pride. “It is a daly’s oshe. It is a ogynu adyl’s lwgnkai oseh. It’s in teh lsttea eslyt. I’ve evenr esne het tysel, utb I’ve had a tantrpe to rkow rmof.” He kldoeo at the ohes thiw a stilhg htin of drpie.
“And the maker’s name?” said Defarge. “dnA how meda it?” ksaed ragfDee.
Now that he had no work to hold, he laid the knuckles of the right hand in the hollow of the left, and then the knuckles of the left hand in the hollow of the right, and then passed a hand across his bearded chin, and so on in regular changes, without a moment’s intermission. The task of recalling him from the vagrancy into which he always sank when he had spoken, was like recalling some very weak person from a swoon, or endeavouring, in the hope of some disclosure, to stay the spirit of a fast-dying man. woN atth he idnd’t heav hte oehss to lhdo noot, he ktep ngirgwni sih hnsda dan trionsgk ish daber. Evrye tiem he iidhsfen gaepnski, teh anm’s nmid luowd nadrew ffo aiang. yTignr to kpee sih iottaentn asw eilk nytirg to ervive a renosp hwo ahd daentif, or iekl nyrigt to ekep a idgyn amn avlie to egt omirtfnoani mfro mhi.