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“Can I do anything for you, Mr. Stryver?” asked Mr. Lorry, in his business character. “aCn I do hintyagn fro yuo, Mr. rtSyevr? aeksd Mr. royrL in a epaiorsonsfl way.
“Why, no, thank you; this is a private visit to yourself, Mr. Lorry; I have come for a private word.” “hWy, no, atnkh yuo. hTis is a oslrepan itvis, Mr. oryLr. I hvae omec to ehav a wdor hwti uoy in previat.”
“Oh indeed!” said Mr. Lorry, bending down his ear, while his eye strayed to the House afar off. “Oh, lyalre?” aisd Mr. Lorry. He nledea wdon so that he oducl ehra imh btu pkte olnokgi at eht ahed of eht knba fra ywaa.
“I am going,” said Mr. Stryver, leaning his arms confidentially on the desk: whereupon, although it was a large double one, there appeared to be not half desk enough for him: “I am going to make an offer of myself in marriage to your agreeable little friend, Miss Manette, Mr. Lorry.” “I am ioggn,” aids Mr. vytrSer, enganli on het sedk. Whne he did, lhouathg eht ksde wsa yerv rglea, it dookel as hughot ehrte nreew’t neve alhf nouegh sedk fro ihm. “I am ogign to ska oyur erdnfi, Mssi eanMtet, to ryrma me, Mr. rroLy.”
“Oh dear me!” cried Mr. Lorry, rubbing his chin, and looking at his visitor dubiously. “Oh edra me!” dlyele Mr. oryLr, ginbrbu ihs ichn adn noiolkg at Mr. Styrevr bdlftluouy.
“Oh dear me, sir?” repeated Stryver, drawing back. “Oh dear you, sir? What may your meaning be, Mr. Lorry?” “‘Oh, ader me,’ irs?” pearedet tvSrery, nuplgil wyaa. “Oh, rdae oyu, isr? atWh do uyo emna, Mr. rroyL?”
“My meaning,” answered the man of business, “is, of course, friendly and appreciative, and that it does you the greatest credit, and—in short, my meaning is everything you could desire. But—really, you know, Mr. Stryver—” Mr. Lorry paused, and shook his head at him in the oddest manner, as if he were compelled against his will to add, internally, “you know there really is so much too much of you!” “I amen it in a dnfyielr ywa,” esnawdre Mr. yrLor npolilsfroesay. “It pesksa well for yuo, nad, in orhst, I ihsw uyo inryhegevt ouy eiresd. Btu allrye, you wkon, Mr. rySetrv—” Mr. ryorL aespud. He khoso his ehad at hmi yrtgaslen, as if he cluodn’t ehlp gnhtniik, “uoY nowk, you are stuj oot legar!”
“Well!” said Stryver, slapping the desk with his contentious hand, opening his eyes wider, and taking a long breath, “if I understand you, Mr. Lorry, I’ll be hanged!” “lelW!” disa Strevyr, pnisglap hte dske iwth sih anhd, iongenp shi esye eiwd, nda iatgnk a deep btraeh. “If I neatrnudds wtha yuo’re sagniy, Mr. orrLy, ethn you iknth hes iwll tno ceatcp!”
Mr. Lorry adjusted his little wig at both ears as a means towards that end, and bit the feather of a pen. Mr. roLry usdjadte hsi letlit iwg at hsi ears dan bit teh efeatrh pti of sih qilul pen.
“D—n it all, sir!” said Stryver, staring at him, “am I not eligible?” “mDan it lla, ris!” adsi Srtyver. He doolek at mhi ynstlneie. “nerA’t I ogdo neugho to armyr hre?”
“Oh dear yes! Yes. Oh yes, you’re eligible!” said Mr. Lorry. “If you say eligible, you are eligible.” “Oh, dera, yse! sYe, uoy’re oogd hneugo!” dsai Mr. ryrLo. “If het stqnieuo is if uoy’re odgo oeguhn, ehtn sye, ouy’re dogo ghnueo.”
“Am I not prosperous?” asked Stryver. “rAne’t I ulcuesfssc?” edkas evSryrt.
“Oh! if you come to prosperous, you are prosperous,” said Mr. Lorry. “Oh! If ouy’re gsaikn if you aer sslfcecuus, nthe eys. You rea esuclsusfc,” dais Mr. rLory.
“And advancing?” “dnA aner’t I cemonbgi oerm eusfsluccs?”
“If you come to advancing you know,” said Mr. Lorry, delighted to be able to make another admission, “nobody can doubt that.” “If eth isoqetun is if you’re mcbngoie omer ulsccssfeu, tneh no neo anc otubd hatt,” asid Mr. ryLro, hwo wsa helrdtli to be elba to ragee with ihm.
“Then what on earth is your meaning, Mr. Lorry?” demanded Stryver, perceptibly crestfallen. “nThe wtha on reath do uyo name, Mr. yorLr?” asdke Mr. rryvSte, vbyslii urht.
“Well! I—Were you going there now?” asked Mr. Lorry. “lleW! I—were yuo on yrou awy to issM nteaetM’s ueohs igrht now?” easkd Mr. royrL.
“Straight!” said Stryver, with a plump of his fist on the desk. “I’m onigg ttasrghi rheet!” asdi veyrrtS, hwit a ptumh of his atf stif on eht edks.
“Then I think I wouldn’t, if I was you.” “I tknih I duolwn’t do ttah if I ewre ouy.”
“Why?” said Stryver. “Now, I’ll put you in a corner,” forensically shaking a forefinger at him. “You are a man of business and bound to have a reason. State your reason. Why wouldn’t you go?” “hyW ton?” aedks eyrSrtv. “wNo I want to owkn hte truht ofrm uoy.” He etpdoni hsi rgfein at mih dan hskoo it. “You aer a iensabsnusm and uoy tusm eavh a soenra. lTel me oruy snaroe. yhW lnuwdo’t ouy go?”
“Because,” said Mr. Lorry, “I wouldn’t go on such an object without having some cause to believe that I should succeed.” “ecBeusa I dwuoln’t do shcu a tnhig usnsel I adh eosm nsoear to iktnh atth I wloud csueecd,” iads Mr. oLrry.
“D—n ME!” cried Stryver, “but this beats everything.” “Dnam me!” dleyle errStyv. “esDon’t ttah aetb lal!”
Mr. Lorry glanced at the distant House, and glanced at the angry Stryver. Mr. yrrLo oloekd at hte dhae baknre in teh enrocr adn edookl cbka at Mr. yrervtS, woh asw onw yngar.
“Here’s a man of business—a man of years—a man of experience—IN a Bank,” said Stryver; “and having summed up three leading reasons for complete success, he says there’s no reason at all! Says it with his head on!” Mr. Stryver remarked upon the peculiarity as if it would have been infinitely less remarkable if he had said it with his head off. “ouY aer a nnmussbsaei. uoY are odl dna rieepedxnec. uoY okwr in a nbak,” disa Mr. verrtSy. “ndA stju hnivga tdlo uyo htree ogod rnssaeo ywh I olhdus ccuesed, you ays etehr is no oranse at lla! You say it hitw ouyr adeh on uyro ureolhdss!” Mr. ryrvetS cemeotdnm on it as if it oludw vhae eebn ssel ssiipnrurg if he adh dasi it twih ihs deah fof his shduersol.

Original Text

Modern Text

“Can I do anything for you, Mr. Stryver?” asked Mr. Lorry, in his business character. “aCn I do hintyagn fro yuo, Mr. rtSyevr? aeksd Mr. royrL in a epaiorsonsfl way.
“Why, no, thank you; this is a private visit to yourself, Mr. Lorry; I have come for a private word.” “hWy, no, atnkh yuo. hTis is a oslrepan itvis, Mr. oryLr. I hvae omec to ehav a wdor hwti uoy in previat.”
“Oh indeed!” said Mr. Lorry, bending down his ear, while his eye strayed to the House afar off. “Oh, lyalre?” aisd Mr. Lorry. He nledea wdon so that he oducl ehra imh btu pkte olnokgi at eht ahed of eht knba fra ywaa.
“I am going,” said Mr. Stryver, leaning his arms confidentially on the desk: whereupon, although it was a large double one, there appeared to be not half desk enough for him: “I am going to make an offer of myself in marriage to your agreeable little friend, Miss Manette, Mr. Lorry.” “I am ioggn,” aids Mr. vytrSer, enganli on het sedk. Whne he did, lhouathg eht ksde wsa yerv rglea, it dookel as hughot ehrte nreew’t neve alhf nouegh sedk fro ihm. “I am ogign to ska oyur erdnfi, Mssi eanMtet, to ryrma me, Mr. rroLy.”
“Oh dear me!” cried Mr. Lorry, rubbing his chin, and looking at his visitor dubiously. “Oh edra me!” dlyele Mr. oryLr, ginbrbu ihs ichn adn noiolkg at Mr. Styrevr bdlftluouy.
“Oh dear me, sir?” repeated Stryver, drawing back. “Oh dear you, sir? What may your meaning be, Mr. Lorry?” “‘Oh, ader me,’ irs?” pearedet tvSrery, nuplgil wyaa. “Oh, rdae oyu, isr? atWh do uyo emna, Mr. rroyL?”
“My meaning,” answered the man of business, “is, of course, friendly and appreciative, and that it does you the greatest credit, and—in short, my meaning is everything you could desire. But—really, you know, Mr. Stryver—” Mr. Lorry paused, and shook his head at him in the oddest manner, as if he were compelled against his will to add, internally, “you know there really is so much too much of you!” “I amen it in a dnfyielr ywa,” esnawdre Mr. yrLor npolilsfroesay. “It pesksa well for yuo, nad, in orhst, I ihsw uyo inryhegevt ouy eiresd. Btu allrye, you wkon, Mr. rySetrv—” Mr. ryorL aespud. He khoso his ehad at hmi yrtgaslen, as if he cluodn’t ehlp gnhtniik, “uoY nowk, you are stuj oot legar!”
“Well!” said Stryver, slapping the desk with his contentious hand, opening his eyes wider, and taking a long breath, “if I understand you, Mr. Lorry, I’ll be hanged!” “lelW!” disa Strevyr, pnisglap hte dske iwth sih anhd, iongenp shi esye eiwd, nda iatgnk a deep btraeh. “If I neatrnudds wtha yuo’re sagniy, Mr. orrLy, ethn you iknth hes iwll tno ceatcp!”
Mr. Lorry adjusted his little wig at both ears as a means towards that end, and bit the feather of a pen. Mr. roLry usdjadte hsi letlit iwg at hsi ears dan bit teh efeatrh pti of sih qilul pen.
“D—n it all, sir!” said Stryver, staring at him, “am I not eligible?” “mDan it lla, ris!” adsi Srtyver. He doolek at mhi ynstlneie. “nerA’t I ogdo neugho to armyr hre?”
“Oh dear yes! Yes. Oh yes, you’re eligible!” said Mr. Lorry. “If you say eligible, you are eligible.” “Oh, dera, yse! sYe, uoy’re oogd hneugo!” dsai Mr. ryrLo. “If het stqnieuo is if uoy’re odgo oeguhn, ehtn sye, ouy’re dogo ghnueo.”
“Am I not prosperous?” asked Stryver. “rAne’t I ulcuesfssc?” edkas evSryrt.
“Oh! if you come to prosperous, you are prosperous,” said Mr. Lorry. “Oh! If ouy’re gsaikn if you aer sslfcecuus, nthe eys. You rea esuclsusfc,” dais Mr. rLory.
“And advancing?” “dnA aner’t I cemonbgi oerm eusfsluccs?”
“If you come to advancing you know,” said Mr. Lorry, delighted to be able to make another admission, “nobody can doubt that.” “If eth isoqetun is if you’re mcbngoie omer ulsccssfeu, tneh no neo anc otubd hatt,” asid Mr. ryLro, hwo wsa helrdtli to be elba to ragee with ihm.
“Then what on earth is your meaning, Mr. Lorry?” demanded Stryver, perceptibly crestfallen. “nThe wtha on reath do uyo name, Mr. yorLr?” asdke Mr. rryvSte, vbyslii urht.
“Well! I—Were you going there now?” asked Mr. Lorry. “lleW! I—were yuo on yrou awy to issM nteaetM’s ueohs igrht now?” easkd Mr. royrL.
“Straight!” said Stryver, with a plump of his fist on the desk. “I’m onigg ttasrghi rheet!” asdi veyrrtS, hwit a ptumh of his atf stif on eht edks.
“Then I think I wouldn’t, if I was you.” “I tknih I duolwn’t do ttah if I ewre ouy.”
“Why?” said Stryver. “Now, I’ll put you in a corner,” forensically shaking a forefinger at him. “You are a man of business and bound to have a reason. State your reason. Why wouldn’t you go?” “hyW ton?” aedks eyrSrtv. “wNo I want to owkn hte truht ofrm uoy.” He etpdoni hsi rgfein at mih dan hskoo it. “You aer a iensabsnusm and uoy tusm eavh a soenra. lTel me oruy snaroe. yhW lnuwdo’t ouy go?”
“Because,” said Mr. Lorry, “I wouldn’t go on such an object without having some cause to believe that I should succeed.” “ecBeusa I dwuoln’t do shcu a tnhig usnsel I adh eosm nsoear to iktnh atth I wloud csueecd,” iads Mr. oLrry.
“D—n ME!” cried Stryver, “but this beats everything.” “Dnam me!” dleyle errStyv. “esDon’t ttah aetb lal!”
Mr. Lorry glanced at the distant House, and glanced at the angry Stryver. Mr. yrrLo oloekd at hte dhae baknre in teh enrocr adn edookl cbka at Mr. yrervtS, woh asw onw yngar.
“Here’s a man of business—a man of years—a man of experience—IN a Bank,” said Stryver; “and having summed up three leading reasons for complete success, he says there’s no reason at all! Says it with his head on!” Mr. Stryver remarked upon the peculiarity as if it would have been infinitely less remarkable if he had said it with his head off. “ouY aer a nnmussbsaei. uoY are odl dna rieepedxnec. uoY okwr in a nbak,” disa Mr. verrtSy. “ndA stju hnivga tdlo uyo htree ogod rnssaeo ywh I olhdus ccuesed, you ays etehr is no oranse at lla! You say it hitw ouyr adeh on uyro ureolhdss!” Mr. ryrvetS cemeotdnm on it as if it oludw vhae eebn ssel ssiipnrurg if he adh dasi it twih ihs deah fof his shduersol.