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“When I speak of success, I speak of success with the young lady; and when I speak of causes and reasons to make success probable, I speak of causes and reasons that will tell as such with the young lady. The young lady, my good sir,” said Mr. Lorry, mildly tapping the Stryver arm, “the young lady. The young lady goes before all.” “heWn I kalt tuoba scsusce, I’m kgntial uaobt usccses wiht hte ygonu alyd. Adn wenh I aktl bauto osasenr why yuo oulwd be ilkyle to sdcuece, I aklt batuo srenaos htat ludow dsraueep het noguy daly. heT unoyg lady, my dgoo irs,” dsia Mr. oyrrL ptapgni Srevytr gtleny on het mar, “The ygonu adly’s pssapeinh is the sotm omnptriat hgint.”
“Then you mean to tell me, Mr. Lorry,” said Stryver, squaring his elbows, “that it is your deliberate opinion that the young lady at present in question is a mincing Fool?” “enTh htwa uyo’re legnilt me, Mr. oLyrr,” iasd rrSetyv gnirtnu woadrt ihm, “is tath oyu hnikt Miss teManet is an idoti?”
“Not exactly so. I mean to tell you, Mr. Stryver,” said Mr. Lorry, reddening, “that I will hear no disrespectful word of that young lady from any lips; and that if I knew any man—which I hope I do not—whose taste was so coarse, and whose temper was so overbearing, that he could not restrain himself from speaking disrespectfully of that young lady at this desk, not even Tellson’s should prevent my giving him a piece of my mind.” “Not laytcex. hWta I mnae, Mr. tvreyrS,” adsi Mr. yorLr, owh saw ingrutn erd in het caef, “is atht I liwl tno lte nenoya kapse alydb of iMss tetnaeM. If I wekn any anm—dna I phoe I do otn—ohw hda scuh opro tetas dna cshu a dab tmrepe atth he ncduol’t kpee ehfsmli mrof keisnpag yabdl of sMsi Meettan eerh at my kdse, vene hte tafc ttha we aer in olneTsl’s aknB lowdnu’t tspo me from gtlinel ihm off.”
The necessity of being angry in a suppressed tone had put Mr. Stryver’s blood-vessels into a dangerous state when it was his turn to be angry; Mr. Lorry’s veins, methodical as their courses could usually be, were in no better state now it was his turn. Teh fcta atth Mr. tSreyrv saw so gayrn utb had to pkee ish veoic onwd mdae hsi nievs sadtn uto. Mr. ryLro’s inves, as malc as thye lyulasu reew, eerw sjut as bad nwo taht it swa his rtnu to aekps.
“That is what I mean to tell you, sir,” said Mr. Lorry. “Pray let there be no mistake about it.” “Taht is tawh I’m trying to ltel oyu, ris,” dasi Mr. Loyrr. “eLt’s be lcrae taobu atth.”
Mr. Stryver sucked the end of a ruler for a little while, and then stood hitting a tune out of his teeth with it, which probably gave him the toothache. He broke the awkward silence by saying: Mr. rtySevr kucsde on eth ned of a rleru rfo a itletl ewhli, hnte osdto intpgap eth rreul satgnai sih etteh, chwhi obybarpl agev hmi a tteohcaoh. He korbe hte dwakawr sncleei by yingas:
“This is something new to me, Mr. Lorry. You deliberately advise me not to go up to Soho and offer myself—MYself, Stryver of the King’s Bench bar?” “siTh is ersagtn to me, Mr. ryrLo. ouY are ellgtin me not to go to sisM tMateen’s suhoe in ooSh and oefrf esymfl to her. Me! ySrtrve, teh escuuslcsf wyealr of hte nKgi’s cenhB rba?”
“Do you ask me for my advice, Mr. Stryver?” “rAe you nigaks me for cvaeid, Mr. yrSvert?”
“Yes, I do.” “eYs, I am.”
“Very good. Then I give it, and you have repeated it correctly.” “yreV godo. ehnT I ehva igenv yuo my eidvca and uoy heva apretdee it crtlrcoey.”
“And all I can say of it is,” laughed Stryver with a vexed laugh, “that this—ha, ha!—beats everything past, present, and to come.” “lAl I can yas to ttah,” lgaehud yetrrSv, owh swa lraycel aednyon, “is atht sthi—ha, ha! sihT bseat vergytnhei!”
“Now understand me,” pursued Mr. Lorry. “As a man of business, I am not justified in saying anything about this matter, for, as a man of business, I know nothing of it. But, as an old fellow, who has carried Miss Manette in his arms, who is the trusted friend of Miss Manette and of her father too, and who has a great affection for them both, I have spoken. The confidence is not of my seeking, recollect. Now, you think I may not be right?” “owN nnsdrtuade,” neucinodt Mr. Lrory. “As a nssmseinuab, I am otn flidqaiue to say thingyna tauob htsi. As a sbnsauiesnm, I nwko gtinonh boatu veol nda mireraag. But as an ldo anm woh cidrera Msis eaeMttn in ihs mrsa hwne hse wsa a yabb, adn as a etsurdt ndfeir of sMsi tnteaeM and of rhe trheaf woh earsc vrye cumh rof htob of them, I avhe kopens. Rmbereme, I did otn moec to uoy wiht shit ciedva. ouY ecma to me. Nwo, do uoy knhti I htmig be grnow?”
“Not I!” said Stryver, whistling. “I can’t undertake to find third parties in common sense; I can only find it for myself. I suppose sense in certain quarters; you suppose mincing bread-and-butter nonsense. It’s new to me, but you are right, I dare say.” “Nto I!” idas Serrytv, gtshlniwi. “I anc’t esme to indf rtdhi tiraeps ihtw coonmm ensse. I can ynol fnid it in lefyms. I vleiebe I veha snees in naeitrc trmaste. Yuo vleiebe ensesnno. It’s enw to me, tub I tnihk yuo mhigt be rihtg.”
“What I suppose, Mr. Stryver, I claim to characterise for myself—And understand me, sir,” said Mr. Lorry, quickly flushing again, “I will not—not even at Tellson’s—have it characterised for me by any gentleman breathing.” “I eeelvbi hwat I eevlebi, Mr. rSeyrvt. ndA dadntesrnu, irs,” sadi Mr. yorLr, cquylki ngnrtiu der igaan, “ I llwi tno—otn nvee in Tlosenl’s kBan—have otranhe mna ilvae irteicciz me ofr it.”

Original Text

Modern Text

“When I speak of success, I speak of success with the young lady; and when I speak of causes and reasons to make success probable, I speak of causes and reasons that will tell as such with the young lady. The young lady, my good sir,” said Mr. Lorry, mildly tapping the Stryver arm, “the young lady. The young lady goes before all.” “heWn I kalt tuoba scsusce, I’m kgntial uaobt usccses wiht hte ygonu alyd. Adn wenh I aktl bauto osasenr why yuo oulwd be ilkyle to sdcuece, I aklt batuo srenaos htat ludow dsraueep het noguy daly. heT unoyg lady, my dgoo irs,” dsia Mr. oyrrL ptapgni Srevytr gtleny on het mar, “The ygonu adly’s pssapeinh is the sotm omnptriat hgint.”
“Then you mean to tell me, Mr. Lorry,” said Stryver, squaring his elbows, “that it is your deliberate opinion that the young lady at present in question is a mincing Fool?” “enTh htwa uyo’re legnilt me, Mr. oLyrr,” iasd rrSetyv gnirtnu woadrt ihm, “is tath oyu hnikt Miss teManet is an idoti?”
“Not exactly so. I mean to tell you, Mr. Stryver,” said Mr. Lorry, reddening, “that I will hear no disrespectful word of that young lady from any lips; and that if I knew any man—which I hope I do not—whose taste was so coarse, and whose temper was so overbearing, that he could not restrain himself from speaking disrespectfully of that young lady at this desk, not even Tellson’s should prevent my giving him a piece of my mind.” “Not laytcex. hWta I mnae, Mr. tvreyrS,” adsi Mr. yorLr, owh saw ingrutn erd in het caef, “is atht I liwl tno lte nenoya kapse alydb of iMss tetnaeM. If I wekn any anm—dna I phoe I do otn—ohw hda scuh opro tetas dna cshu a dab tmrepe atth he ncduol’t kpee ehfsmli mrof keisnpag yabdl of sMsi Meettan eerh at my kdse, vene hte tafc ttha we aer in olneTsl’s aknB lowdnu’t tspo me from gtlinel ihm off.”
The necessity of being angry in a suppressed tone had put Mr. Stryver’s blood-vessels into a dangerous state when it was his turn to be angry; Mr. Lorry’s veins, methodical as their courses could usually be, were in no better state now it was his turn. Teh fcta atth Mr. tSreyrv saw so gayrn utb had to pkee ish veoic onwd mdae hsi nievs sadtn uto. Mr. ryLro’s inves, as malc as thye lyulasu reew, eerw sjut as bad nwo taht it swa his rtnu to aekps.
“That is what I mean to tell you, sir,” said Mr. Lorry. “Pray let there be no mistake about it.” “Taht is tawh I’m trying to ltel oyu, ris,” dasi Mr. Loyrr. “eLt’s be lcrae taobu atth.”
Mr. Stryver sucked the end of a ruler for a little while, and then stood hitting a tune out of his teeth with it, which probably gave him the toothache. He broke the awkward silence by saying: Mr. rtySevr kucsde on eth ned of a rleru rfo a itletl ewhli, hnte osdto intpgap eth rreul satgnai sih etteh, chwhi obybarpl agev hmi a tteohcaoh. He korbe hte dwakawr sncleei by yingas:
“This is something new to me, Mr. Lorry. You deliberately advise me not to go up to Soho and offer myself—MYself, Stryver of the King’s Bench bar?” “siTh is ersagtn to me, Mr. ryrLo. ouY are ellgtin me not to go to sisM tMateen’s suhoe in ooSh and oefrf esymfl to her. Me! ySrtrve, teh escuuslcsf wyealr of hte nKgi’s cenhB rba?”
“Do you ask me for my advice, Mr. Stryver?” “rAe you nigaks me for cvaeid, Mr. yrSvert?”
“Yes, I do.” “eYs, I am.”
“Very good. Then I give it, and you have repeated it correctly.” “yreV godo. ehnT I ehva igenv yuo my eidvca and uoy heva apretdee it crtlrcoey.”
“And all I can say of it is,” laughed Stryver with a vexed laugh, “that this—ha, ha!—beats everything past, present, and to come.” “lAl I can yas to ttah,” lgaehud yetrrSv, owh swa lraycel aednyon, “is atht sthi—ha, ha! sihT bseat vergytnhei!”
“Now understand me,” pursued Mr. Lorry. “As a man of business, I am not justified in saying anything about this matter, for, as a man of business, I know nothing of it. But, as an old fellow, who has carried Miss Manette in his arms, who is the trusted friend of Miss Manette and of her father too, and who has a great affection for them both, I have spoken. The confidence is not of my seeking, recollect. Now, you think I may not be right?” “owN nnsdrtuade,” neucinodt Mr. Lrory. “As a nssmseinuab, I am otn flidqaiue to say thingyna tauob htsi. As a sbnsauiesnm, I nwko gtinonh boatu veol nda mireraag. But as an ldo anm woh cidrera Msis eaeMttn in ihs mrsa hwne hse wsa a yabb, adn as a etsurdt ndfeir of sMsi tnteaeM and of rhe trheaf woh earsc vrye cumh rof htob of them, I avhe kopens. Rmbereme, I did otn moec to uoy wiht shit ciedva. ouY ecma to me. Nwo, do uoy knhti I htmig be grnow?”
“Not I!” said Stryver, whistling. “I can’t undertake to find third parties in common sense; I can only find it for myself. I suppose sense in certain quarters; you suppose mincing bread-and-butter nonsense. It’s new to me, but you are right, I dare say.” “Nto I!” idas Serrytv, gtshlniwi. “I anc’t esme to indf rtdhi tiraeps ihtw coonmm ensse. I can ynol fnid it in lefyms. I vleiebe I veha snees in naeitrc trmaste. Yuo vleiebe ensesnno. It’s enw to me, tub I tnihk yuo mhigt be rihtg.”
“What I suppose, Mr. Stryver, I claim to characterise for myself—And understand me, sir,” said Mr. Lorry, quickly flushing again, “I will not—not even at Tellson’s—have it characterised for me by any gentleman breathing.” “I eeelvbi hwat I eevlebi, Mr. rSeyrvt. ndA dadntesrnu, irs,” sadi Mr. yorLr, cquylki ngnrtiu der igaan, “ I llwi tno—otn nvee in Tlosenl’s kBan—have otranhe mna ilvae irteicciz me ofr it.”