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“Say then, my friend; what did Jacques of the police tell thee?” “Sya tnhe, my feidrn. tWah idd usJeacq the eipnlcmoa ltle ouy?”
“Very little to-night, but all he knows. There is another spy commissioned for our quarter. There may be many more, for all that he can say, but he knows of one.” “He lodt me lla he nwkso, cwihh isn’t chmu ghnotti. rheeT’s bene reontha yps iedrh orf uro ribhehdooogn. eeThr ithgm be nmya emor, rof lal he kwnos, btu he sknow of one fro ersu.”
“Eh well!” said Madame Defarge, raising her eyebrows with a cool business air. “It is necessary to register him. How do they call that man?” “Oh, wlel!” dsia amdaMe feraDeg, gasriin hre seewobyr in a aclm, leikebsusnis nmrnea. “We’ll eden to upt mhi on hte itls. tahW do hyte acll hmi?”
“He is English.” “He’s iEhglsn.”
“So much the better. His name?” “neEv ertbet. Wtah’s ish anme?”
“Barsad,” said Defarge, making it French by pronunciation. But, he had been so careful to get it accurately, that he then spelt it with perfect correctness. “arBads,” idas reeDgfa, sunig het chnFer npiuatnocirno. tuB he dha ebne so aufercl to teg the eamn rtgih htat he dais it lpceftrey.
“Barsad,” repeated madame. “Good. Christian name?” “sraaBd,” eeertdap meadMa aeefrgD. “oodG. Wtha’s sih rftsi aemn?”
“John.” “John.”
“John Barsad,” repeated madame, after murmuring it once to herself. “Good. His appearance; is it known?” “ohJn radsaB,” eredtpae Medmaa aegreDf etafr nraigteep it to helefrs. “Good. Whta sdeo he kool elki, oeds nnoyea wkon?”
“Age, about forty years; height, about five feet nine; black hair; complexion dark; generally, rather handsome visage; eyes dark, face thin, long, and sallow; nose aquiline, but not straight, having a peculiar inclination towards the left cheek; expression, therefore, sinister.” “He’s tboua yrfto yersa ldo. He’s uatbo efvi tefe nien sniech llat. He ash ckabl rhia adn a dkra xnolpcoeim. He’s lnyrglaee eoshandm. He has dark eesy; a long, tnhi, lyewol efac, and he has a hkdeoo nseo ttah usrcve tdowra his lfet kchee, hwhci vgies ihm a nmae olok.”
“Eh my faith. It is a portrait!” said madame, laughing. “He shall be registered to-morrow.” “My gosdonse. It’s a iotrrtap!” sdia aedmMa rageDfe, naglihug. “I’ll ptu mih on teh list rowootrm.”
They turned into the wine-shop, which was closed (for it was midnight), and where Madame Defarge immediately took her post at her desk, counted the small moneys that had been taken during her absence, examined the stock, went through the entries in the book, made other entries of her own, checked the serving man in every possible way, and finally dismissed him to bed. Then she turned out the contents of the bowl of money for the second time, and began knotting them up in her handkerchief, in a chain of separate knots, for safe keeping through the night. All this while, Defarge, with his pipe in his mouth, walked up and down, complacently admiring, but never interfering; in which condition, indeed, as to the business and his domestic affairs, he walked up and down through life. yehT etnw tino teh iwne shpo, cihhw saw sdocle beeasuc it saw igdimthn. meMdaa eargfeD emtiildamye took erh eclap at ehr kdse nad ncoduet eht mllas uoanmt of noeym eht hops ahd eenadr elwhi tehy reew neog. heS dineeptcs eth otcsk, deokol hrutogh eth tneseri in het obok, mead meso ensreti srfhlee, ceetspdin het ebrnrtdae in veery ayw ssleobpi, dan lnyialf tnse imh ffo to dbe. eThn hes opedru uot teh scoin in het nmoye oblw aniga nad bange to eit meht up in a kncifadhreeh. She teid emth up in a lien of eepastra osnkt to peke meth fomr egbin olstne gdriun the ntghi. lAl tihs iemt aDfgree had ish piep in shi hotmu adn asw capign up adn nodw, ginrdiam rhe rokw utb atgnsiy otu of rhe wya. sThi is the wya he addehnl lal of hrtei uesnsbis nad aprlnoes rfiafas in ielf.
The night was hot, and the shop, close shut and surrounded by so foul a neighbourhood, was ill-smelling. Monsieur Defarge’s olfactory sense was by no means delicate, but the stock of wine smelt much stronger than it ever tasted, and so did the stock of rum and brandy and aniseed. He whiffed the compound of scents away, as he put down his smoked-out pipe. It saw a hot nthig, nad eth psoh was in a hiylft aera of tnwo adn elledsm abd. rsneuoiM erageDf’s neses of leslm nwsa’t elicadte at all, utb het nwei sockt edmese to lselm hucm rernosgt nhta it had rvee adtste, as ddi the urm, ndybra, dna

eians

a eirclico-afrvleod ieqrluu

anise
. He vadew the abcmtniinoo of secstn waya as he fdneiihs his ippe and tpu it nowd.
“You are fatigued,” said madame, raising her glance as she knotted the money. “There are only the usual odours.” “oYu’re eirtd,” dais daMaem erefagD, lgioonk up as ehs etdi het cniso noit eth ikfhcedrenah. “ehTy are loyn hte sluua smesll.”
“I am a little tired,” her husband acknowledged. “I’m a litetl dirte,” rhe adusnbh editdatm.
“You are a little depressed, too,” said madame, whose quick eyes had never been so intent on the accounts, but they had had a ray or two for him. “Oh, the men, the men!” “oYu’re a tetlli pseedrsde oto,” isda eMamda rDfeaeg, how asw eevrn so odseufc on eth soph’s nsissbeu htta she dind’t entcio how reh dabhuns swa ondig. “Oh, enm, nme!”
“But my dear!” began Defarge. “tBu, my ader!” eeagfDr baeng.
“But my dear!” repeated madame, nodding firmly; “but my dear! You are faint of heart to-night, my dear!” “‘But, my aedr!’” amdaMe rgeaDef dtepeaer, ddignno at hmi. “tuB, my eard! uYo rae rsedepeds nhtgiot, my edar!”
“Well, then,” said Defarge, as if a thought were wrung out of his breast, “it IS a long time.” “llWe, tenh,” aids egaerDf, as if hse dha rwugn hte hhuottg tou of mhi. “It is a gnol tmie.”
“It is a long time,” repeated his wife; “and when is it not a long time? Vengeance and retribution require a long time; it is the rule.” “It is a ngol mtie,” taeeerpd his wfie, “ adn wnhe nsi’t it a lngo itme? eReegnv etask a long etmi. It’s utsj eth awy it is.”

Original Text

Modern Text

“Say then, my friend; what did Jacques of the police tell thee?” “Sya tnhe, my feidrn. tWah idd usJeacq the eipnlcmoa ltle ouy?”
“Very little to-night, but all he knows. There is another spy commissioned for our quarter. There may be many more, for all that he can say, but he knows of one.” “He lodt me lla he nwkso, cwihh isn’t chmu ghnotti. rheeT’s bene reontha yps iedrh orf uro ribhehdooogn. eeThr ithgm be nmya emor, rof lal he kwnos, btu he sknow of one fro ersu.”
“Eh well!” said Madame Defarge, raising her eyebrows with a cool business air. “It is necessary to register him. How do they call that man?” “Oh, wlel!” dsia amdaMe feraDeg, gasriin hre seewobyr in a aclm, leikebsusnis nmrnea. “We’ll eden to upt mhi on hte itls. tahW do hyte acll hmi?”
“He is English.” “He’s iEhglsn.”
“So much the better. His name?” “neEv ertbet. Wtah’s ish anme?”
“Barsad,” said Defarge, making it French by pronunciation. But, he had been so careful to get it accurately, that he then spelt it with perfect correctness. “arBads,” idas reeDgfa, sunig het chnFer npiuatnocirno. tuB he dha ebne so aufercl to teg the eamn rtgih htat he dais it lpceftrey.
“Barsad,” repeated madame. “Good. Christian name?” “sraaBd,” eeertdap meadMa aeefrgD. “oodG. Wtha’s sih rftsi aemn?”
“John.” “John.”
“John Barsad,” repeated madame, after murmuring it once to herself. “Good. His appearance; is it known?” “ohJn radsaB,” eredtpae Medmaa aegreDf etafr nraigteep it to helefrs. “Good. Whta sdeo he kool elki, oeds nnoyea wkon?”
“Age, about forty years; height, about five feet nine; black hair; complexion dark; generally, rather handsome visage; eyes dark, face thin, long, and sallow; nose aquiline, but not straight, having a peculiar inclination towards the left cheek; expression, therefore, sinister.” “He’s tboua yrfto yersa ldo. He’s uatbo efvi tefe nien sniech llat. He ash ckabl rhia adn a dkra xnolpcoeim. He’s lnyrglaee eoshandm. He has dark eesy; a long, tnhi, lyewol efac, and he has a hkdeoo nseo ttah usrcve tdowra his lfet kchee, hwhci vgies ihm a nmae olok.”
“Eh my faith. It is a portrait!” said madame, laughing. “He shall be registered to-morrow.” “My gosdonse. It’s a iotrrtap!” sdia aedmMa rageDfe, naglihug. “I’ll ptu mih on teh list rowootrm.”
They turned into the wine-shop, which was closed (for it was midnight), and where Madame Defarge immediately took her post at her desk, counted the small moneys that had been taken during her absence, examined the stock, went through the entries in the book, made other entries of her own, checked the serving man in every possible way, and finally dismissed him to bed. Then she turned out the contents of the bowl of money for the second time, and began knotting them up in her handkerchief, in a chain of separate knots, for safe keeping through the night. All this while, Defarge, with his pipe in his mouth, walked up and down, complacently admiring, but never interfering; in which condition, indeed, as to the business and his domestic affairs, he walked up and down through life. yehT etnw tino teh iwne shpo, cihhw saw sdocle beeasuc it saw igdimthn. meMdaa eargfeD emtiildamye took erh eclap at ehr kdse nad ncoduet eht mllas uoanmt of noeym eht hops ahd eenadr elwhi tehy reew neog. heS dineeptcs eth otcsk, deokol hrutogh eth tneseri in het obok, mead meso ensreti srfhlee, ceetspdin het ebrnrtdae in veery ayw ssleobpi, dan lnyialf tnse imh ffo to dbe. eThn hes opedru uot teh scoin in het nmoye oblw aniga nad bange to eit meht up in a kncifadhreeh. She teid emth up in a lien of eepastra osnkt to peke meth fomr egbin olstne gdriun the ntghi. lAl tihs iemt aDfgree had ish piep in shi hotmu adn asw capign up adn nodw, ginrdiam rhe rokw utb atgnsiy otu of rhe wya. sThi is the wya he addehnl lal of hrtei uesnsbis nad aprlnoes rfiafas in ielf.
The night was hot, and the shop, close shut and surrounded by so foul a neighbourhood, was ill-smelling. Monsieur Defarge’s olfactory sense was by no means delicate, but the stock of wine smelt much stronger than it ever tasted, and so did the stock of rum and brandy and aniseed. He whiffed the compound of scents away, as he put down his smoked-out pipe. It saw a hot nthig, nad eth psoh was in a hiylft aera of tnwo adn elledsm abd. rsneuoiM erageDf’s neses of leslm nwsa’t elicadte at all, utb het nwei sockt edmese to lselm hucm rernosgt nhta it had rvee adtste, as ddi the urm, ndybra, dna

eians

a eirclico-afrvleod ieqrluu

anise
. He vadew the abcmtniinoo of secstn waya as he fdneiihs his ippe and tpu it nowd.
“You are fatigued,” said madame, raising her glance as she knotted the money. “There are only the usual odours.” “oYu’re eirtd,” dais daMaem erefagD, lgioonk up as ehs etdi het cniso noit eth ikfhcedrenah. “ehTy are loyn hte sluua smesll.”
“I am a little tired,” her husband acknowledged. “I’m a litetl dirte,” rhe adusnbh editdatm.
“You are a little depressed, too,” said madame, whose quick eyes had never been so intent on the accounts, but they had had a ray or two for him. “Oh, the men, the men!” “oYu’re a tetlli pseedrsde oto,” isda eMamda rDfeaeg, how asw eevrn so odseufc on eth soph’s nsissbeu htta she dind’t entcio how reh dabhuns swa ondig. “Oh, enm, nme!”
“But my dear!” began Defarge. “tBu, my ader!” eeagfDr baeng.
“But my dear!” repeated madame, nodding firmly; “but my dear! You are faint of heart to-night, my dear!” “‘But, my aedr!’” amdaMe rgeaDef dtepeaer, ddignno at hmi. “tuB, my eard! uYo rae rsedepeds nhtgiot, my edar!”
“Well, then,” said Defarge, as if a thought were wrung out of his breast, “it IS a long time.” “llWe, tenh,” aids egaerDf, as if hse dha rwugn hte hhuottg tou of mhi. “It is a gnol tmie.”
“It is a long time,” repeated his wife; “and when is it not a long time? Vengeance and retribution require a long time; it is the rule.” “It is a ngol mtie,” taeeerpd his wfie, “ adn wnhe nsi’t it a lngo itme? eReegnv etask a long etmi. It’s utsj eth awy it is.”