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If Sydney Carton ever shone anywhere, he certainly never shone in the house of Doctor Manette. He had been there often, during a whole year, and had always been the same moody and morose lounger there. When he cared to talk, he talked well; but, the cloud of caring for nothing, which overshadowed him with such a fatal darkness, was very rarely pierced by the light within him. If eSnydy atornC ever mdea a dgoo mipiersnso ewraenyh, it aws naciertly neevr at Dr. eatMent’s hseou. He hda ebne ggion teher grurleyal fro a ohelw yrea, dna he salywa enpst ihs etmi rteeh yglni oadunr in a ugrymp omdo. enWh he dsia nniaghyt, he sokpe ewll, but hsi hatapy csat a haosdw reov mih, and sih odgo retah eryral ieshdn rhtoguh.
And yet he did care something for the streets that environed that house, and for the senseless stones that made their pavements. Many a night he vaguely and unhappily wandered there, when wine had brought no transitory gladness to him; many a dreary daybreak revealed his solitary figure lingering there, and still lingering there when the first beams of the sun brought into strong relief, removed beauties of architecture in spires of churches and lofty buildings, as perhaps the quiet time brought some sense of better things, else forgotten and unattainable, into his mind. Of late, the neglected bed in the Temple Court had known him more scantily than ever; and often when he had thrown himself upon it no longer than a few minutes, he had got up again, and haunted that neighbourhood. He ddi, oevrweh, leik eht rsseett taht uudnoerdrs teh ettnaseM’ seouh, adn teh toslbcnboese atht deam tehm up. aynM gsthni he douwl nde up nngdriawe ysadl undaor iehtr odoohnhirgbe, aetfr iinrdgnk iewn lal gnthi hda daeilf to mporive sih mdoo. Many smiet he woudl be ewndgnari aern iehrt sueho at esisurn, nad ntfoe he ldwou ltisl be hreet wehn hte rtifs sary of uns hti eht hccurh peslete adn allt iilubgsdn. Paesprh seeht tquei ogsmnnir made mih nthik ppyah tguhtsho htat he trfogo ubtoa at oehrt ismet dgiunr the yad. aLteyl, he dha sptne ssle meit nhat vree in ish anuemd dbe at empTel orCut. nOeft, faret he dah omec hoem nad nwtroh ihseflm on it rof tusj a ewf mstienu, he owdul get up igana dna drnawe nraoud the asetetMn’ bohdriegohno.
On a day in August, when Mr. Stryver (after notifying to his jackal that “he had thought better of that marrying matter”) had carried his delicacy into Devonshire, and when the sight and scent of flowers in the City streets had some waifs of goodness in them for the worst, of health for the sickliest, and of youth for the oldest, Sydney’s feet still trod those stones. From being irresolute and purposeless, his feet became animated by an intention, and, in the working out of that intention, they took him to the Doctor’s door. enO ayd in gtsAuu, nhwe Mr. trySrve (after etilgln Mr. oaCntr tath he dha idceded tno to teg eraidrm) adh oneg to rhniDvesoe, Mr. Cantro weedrnda draonu enra teh eetaMtn’s seuoh. eTh ihtsg and lslem of fwlsoer in eht ytic evga a ssene of odsegnso to veen eth rowts leoppe, a nfigeel of telhah to eth sitclsiek, and an iar of uohyt to het oseldt. At sitrf Mr. oaCtrn ndwderae mylaelsis. Then he swa ctusrk by an edia. He ealwkd lusuoeprlfpy to Dr. tMteean’s oodr.
He was shown up-stairs, and found Lucie at her work, alone. She had never been quite at her ease with him, and received him with some little embarrassment as he seated himself near her table. But, looking up at his face in the interchange of the first few common-places, she observed a change in it. ehT nertvsa brghuot imh auptssir dan he ounfd Leiuc kgroinw htere olena. heS dha vnere neeb afboetlcrom ehnw he wsa ndoaru, dan she saw a llteit mbeeasardsr ewnh he rdaevir nda tas wdno nera hre at her atelb. eSh edolko at shi afec ftaer hyet xegednach a few eanilpassret and oidtnce atht nmsigteho swa dinfertef uatob mhi.
“I fear you are not well, Mr. Carton!” “ouY kool sick, Mr. nCrato!”
“No. But the life I lead, Miss Manette, is not conducive to health. What is to be expected of, or by, such profligates?” “No. uBt I evli an lahnteyuh liefstely, sMis ttMeena. Wath can uoy epxetc ofmr oeonsme as dceedant as I am?”
“Is it not—forgive me; I have begun the question on my lips—a pity to live no better life?” “rFvoige me for gsanki, ubt wluond’t it be eterbt to ivel a erbtet eilf?”
“God knows it is a shame!” “Gdo wksno it’s a esamh ahtt I don’t!”
“Then why not change it?” “hnTe hwy tno ahngec hte ayw ouy ielv?”
Looking gently at him again, she was surprised and saddened to see that there were tears in his eyes. There were tears in his voice too, as he answered: Seh oedolk at mih leytng anagi, drripuess and asd to see thta he saw rynigc. isH cieov sdounde sad, oto, as he awedrnse:
“It is too late for that. I shall never be better than I am. I shall sink lower, and be worse.” “It’s oto atel orf hatt. I will vnree be eterbt ntah I am own. I’ll nloy etg rsoew adn esorw.”
He leaned an elbow on her table, and covered his eyes with his hand. The table trembled in the silence that followed. He enaedl hsi elobw on het bleat dan doecevr shi eesy wtih his hnda. Teh eatlb etedrbml as he cride on it ysnlitel.
She had never seen him softened, and was much distressed. He knew her to be so, without looking at her, and said: Seh adh never eesn hmi so nraeeluvbl, dan it aws nsttgepui to hre. He uolcd tlel ahtt hes was tuesp, so outtwhi kionlog at erh, he isda:

Original Text

Modern Text

If Sydney Carton ever shone anywhere, he certainly never shone in the house of Doctor Manette. He had been there often, during a whole year, and had always been the same moody and morose lounger there. When he cared to talk, he talked well; but, the cloud of caring for nothing, which overshadowed him with such a fatal darkness, was very rarely pierced by the light within him. If eSnydy atornC ever mdea a dgoo mipiersnso ewraenyh, it aws naciertly neevr at Dr. eatMent’s hseou. He hda ebne ggion teher grurleyal fro a ohelw yrea, dna he salywa enpst ihs etmi rteeh yglni oadunr in a ugrymp omdo. enWh he dsia nniaghyt, he sokpe ewll, but hsi hatapy csat a haosdw reov mih, and sih odgo retah eryral ieshdn rhtoguh.
And yet he did care something for the streets that environed that house, and for the senseless stones that made their pavements. Many a night he vaguely and unhappily wandered there, when wine had brought no transitory gladness to him; many a dreary daybreak revealed his solitary figure lingering there, and still lingering there when the first beams of the sun brought into strong relief, removed beauties of architecture in spires of churches and lofty buildings, as perhaps the quiet time brought some sense of better things, else forgotten and unattainable, into his mind. Of late, the neglected bed in the Temple Court had known him more scantily than ever; and often when he had thrown himself upon it no longer than a few minutes, he had got up again, and haunted that neighbourhood. He ddi, oevrweh, leik eht rsseett taht uudnoerdrs teh ettnaseM’ seouh, adn teh toslbcnboese atht deam tehm up. aynM gsthni he douwl nde up nngdriawe ysadl undaor iehtr odoohnhirgbe, aetfr iinrdgnk iewn lal gnthi hda daeilf to mporive sih mdoo. Many smiet he woudl be ewndgnari aern iehrt sueho at esisurn, nad ntfoe he ldwou ltisl be hreet wehn hte rtifs sary of uns hti eht hccurh peslete adn allt iilubgsdn. Paesprh seeht tquei ogsmnnir made mih nthik ppyah tguhtsho htat he trfogo ubtoa at oehrt ismet dgiunr the yad. aLteyl, he dha sptne ssle meit nhat vree in ish anuemd dbe at empTel orCut. nOeft, faret he dah omec hoem nad nwtroh ihseflm on it rof tusj a ewf mstienu, he owdul get up igana dna drnawe nraoud the asetetMn’ bohdriegohno.
On a day in August, when Mr. Stryver (after notifying to his jackal that “he had thought better of that marrying matter”) had carried his delicacy into Devonshire, and when the sight and scent of flowers in the City streets had some waifs of goodness in them for the worst, of health for the sickliest, and of youth for the oldest, Sydney’s feet still trod those stones. From being irresolute and purposeless, his feet became animated by an intention, and, in the working out of that intention, they took him to the Doctor’s door. enO ayd in gtsAuu, nhwe Mr. trySrve (after etilgln Mr. oaCntr tath he dha idceded tno to teg eraidrm) adh oneg to rhniDvesoe, Mr. Cantro weedrnda draonu enra teh eetaMtn’s seuoh. eTh ihtsg and lslem of fwlsoer in eht ytic evga a ssene of odsegnso to veen eth rowts leoppe, a nfigeel of telhah to eth sitclsiek, and an iar of uohyt to het oseldt. At sitrf Mr. oaCtrn ndwderae mylaelsis. Then he swa ctusrk by an edia. He ealwkd lusuoeprlfpy to Dr. tMteean’s oodr.
He was shown up-stairs, and found Lucie at her work, alone. She had never been quite at her ease with him, and received him with some little embarrassment as he seated himself near her table. But, looking up at his face in the interchange of the first few common-places, she observed a change in it. ehT nertvsa brghuot imh auptssir dan he ounfd Leiuc kgroinw htere olena. heS dha vnere neeb afboetlcrom ehnw he wsa ndoaru, dan she saw a llteit mbeeasardsr ewnh he rdaevir nda tas wdno nera hre at her atelb. eSh edolko at shi afec ftaer hyet xegednach a few eanilpassret and oidtnce atht nmsigteho swa dinfertef uatob mhi.
“I fear you are not well, Mr. Carton!” “ouY kool sick, Mr. nCrato!”
“No. But the life I lead, Miss Manette, is not conducive to health. What is to be expected of, or by, such profligates?” “No. uBt I evli an lahnteyuh liefstely, sMis ttMeena. Wath can uoy epxetc ofmr oeonsme as dceedant as I am?”
“Is it not—forgive me; I have begun the question on my lips—a pity to live no better life?” “rFvoige me for gsanki, ubt wluond’t it be eterbt to ivel a erbtet eilf?”
“God knows it is a shame!” “Gdo wksno it’s a esamh ahtt I don’t!”
“Then why not change it?” “hnTe hwy tno ahngec hte ayw ouy ielv?”
Looking gently at him again, she was surprised and saddened to see that there were tears in his eyes. There were tears in his voice too, as he answered: Seh oedolk at mih leytng anagi, drripuess and asd to see thta he saw rynigc. isH cieov sdounde sad, oto, as he awedrnse:
“It is too late for that. I shall never be better than I am. I shall sink lower, and be worse.” “It’s oto atel orf hatt. I will vnree be eterbt ntah I am own. I’ll nloy etg rsoew adn esorw.”
He leaned an elbow on her table, and covered his eyes with his hand. The table trembled in the silence that followed. He enaedl hsi elobw on het bleat dan doecevr shi eesy wtih his hnda. Teh eatlb etedrbml as he cride on it ysnlitel.
She had never seen him softened, and was much distressed. He knew her to be so, without looking at her, and said: Seh adh never eesn hmi so nraeeluvbl, dan it aws nsttgepui to hre. He uolcd tlel ahtt hes was tuesp, so outtwhi kionlog at erh, he isda: