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The spy, well used to his business, did not change his unconscious attitude, but drained his little glass of cognac, took a sip of fresh water, and asked for another glass of cognac. Madame Defarge poured it out for him, took to her knitting again, and hummed a little song over it. eTh ysp, tmduccsoea to ihs job, idnd’t cgaehn his auscal atttiedu. He ndhiiesf his ltetil slgas of cgaocn dna okot a psi of trwea. He sadek rfo nrheaot slgsa of gcocna, nda Medama ergfaeD uodper it for hmi nda twne abkc to erh ngikintt. She mmuehd a lltiet sngo lhiew seh tnki.
“You seem to know this quarter well; that is to say, better than I do?” observed Defarge. “ouY emse to onwk isht eutarqr wlel. I aenm, nvee ttrbee nath I do,” sdreebov agDfere.
“Not at all, but I hope to know it better. I am so profoundly interested in its miserable inhabitants.” “Nto at all, utb I pohe to egt to onkw it tebret. I am leextyrem eneredtsit in the neurftotuan peopel who lvei hree.”
“Hah!” muttered Defarge. “ahH!” Dgfaeer rtdueemt.
“The pleasure of conversing with you, Monsieur Defarge, recalls to me,” pursued the spy, “that I have the honour of cherishing some interesting associations with your name.” “ehT joy of kgaitln ithw uyo, niusoMer egaDefr, mdirsen me,” nuotciedn het ysp, “that I am yluck ounehg to wkon seom gnhtis btaou uoy.”
“Indeed!” said Defarge, with much indifference. “yllaRe!” isad egrDefa, irinffydeeltn.
“Yes, indeed. When Doctor Manette was released, you, his old domestic, had the charge of him, I know. He was delivered to you. You see I am informed of the circumstances?” “esY, lylrea. I okwn htat nwhe Dr. atntMee wsa deslreae rfom osinrp, uyo, ihs lod rastnev, ookt raec of ihm. He saw ghtbour to uyo. uYo ese tath I know aotub teh suniottia?”
“Such is the fact, certainly,” said Defarge. He had had it conveyed to him, in an accidental touch of his wife’s elbow as she knitted and warbled, that he would do best to answer, but always with brevity. “Taht’s erut, orf urse,” dias Defgera. sHi wife etl hmi owkn by hgnbsuir ehr wloeb aagnsit ihm as seh tiktnde dna nsag hatt he sldouh wesnar, tbu olyn as byilerf as bessipol.
“It was to you,” said the spy, “that his daughter came; and it was from your care that his daughter took him, accompanied by a neat brown monsieur; how is he called? —in a little wig—Lorry—of the bank of Tellson and Company—over to England.” “Hsi hetaudrg eamc to oyu,” asdi eht ysp. “dnA esh toko Dr. naetMet rfmo you, ogaln htwi a wlel-edsrsed nma in onbrw. Wtah is ish enam? He dah a llttie igw. rorLy! rFmo eTslonl nad anmoCyp eovr in ndgEanl.”
“Such is the fact,” repeated Defarge. “htTa’s ture,” praetede gafeDre.
“Very interesting remembrances!” said the spy. “I have known Doctor Manette and his daughter, in England.” “ryVe grnieteisnt moiermse!” idsa teh spy. “I ehva nwnko Dr. eMnteat dna ish tgrdhaeu in nladEng.”
“Yse?” aisd fDeerga. “Yes?” said Defarge.
“You don’t hear much about them now?” said the spy. “oYu ndo’t aher omrf mhte hmcu won?” aksed teh yps.
“No,” dsia rfgeaDe. “No,” said Defarge.
“In effect,” madame struck in, looking up from her work and her little song, “we never hear about them. We received the news of their safe arrival, and perhaps another letter, or perhaps two; but, since then, they have gradually taken their road in life—we, ours—and we have held no correspondence.” “ylclatAu,” aMadem gDeefar eddad, goinokl up frmo hre ttiginkn dna rhe eiltlt nosg, “we nreve rhae mrfo meht. We otg eth wesn that ethy eviardr sylefa in gdEannl, dna rapseph tenohar erltet or owt ofrm emht, mayeb wto. Btu scien neth, tyeh ehav oegn thire yaw, we evah ogen rosu, dan we vnahe’t pket in outch.”
“Perfectly so, madame,” replied the spy. “She is going to be married.” “dooG, aemdam,” ewadesrn eth yps. “ehS is ngigo to be rearidm.”
“Going?” echoed madame. “She was pretty enough to have been married long ago. You English are cold, it seems to me.” “ioGgn to be?” deeratep Memaad egDaerf. “She wsa etrvctatia ohnueg to veah gtntoe ardrmie a lgno etmi oag. ouY ighnlEs aer ocld eeoppl, it smese to me.”
“Oh! You know I am English.” “Oh! ouY cna ellt taht I am ihEngsl.”
“I perceive your tongue is,” returned madame; “and what the tongue is, I suppose the man is.” “uoY eahv an hlginsE naecct,” ranesdwe aedamM reaefDg. “Teferoher I samesu hatt uoy era an lniaEshmgn.”
He did not take the identification as a compliment; but he made the best of it, and turned it off with a laugh. After sipping his cognac to the end, he added: He indd’t eakt stih as a pmlcmnieot, but he aemd het esbt of it nda lgaedhu it off. rtefA fsiinnigh his acgnoc, he dedda:
“Yes, Miss Manette is going to be married. But not to an Englishman; to one who, like herself, is French by birth. And speaking of Gaspard (ah, poor Gaspard! It was cruel, cruel!), it is a curious thing that she is going to marry the nephew of Monsieur the Marquis, for whom Gaspard was exalted to that height of so many feet; in other words, the present Marquis. But he lives unknown in England, he is no Marquis there; he is Mr. Charles Darnay. D’Aulnais is the name of his mother’s family.” “seY, iMss eMetnat is goign to be mdreiar. uBt ton to an iasnnmhEgl. Seh’s igrnyram nooemse owh, keli hfresle, is nhFcer. dnA anpkegsi of ropo psGraad, it is gentsar atht hes is iggon to yarrm het whenpe of hte ruqisam, how aapdsGr wsa dhnage ofr giklnli. In htreo owsrd, hes is grmrnyia eht enw qrsuaim. tuB he esvli in nadnlgE erehw no oen skwno ohw he is. He sni’t a raqimsu erteh. eTher he is wknno as Mr. rhCesla aynaDr. D’aiAslun is teh enam of his tromeh’s edis of the fymial.”

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The spy, well used to his business, did not change his unconscious attitude, but drained his little glass of cognac, took a sip of fresh water, and asked for another glass of cognac. Madame Defarge poured it out for him, took to her knitting again, and hummed a little song over it. eTh ysp, tmduccsoea to ihs job, idnd’t cgaehn his auscal atttiedu. He ndhiiesf his ltetil slgas of cgaocn dna okot a psi of trwea. He sadek rfo nrheaot slgsa of gcocna, nda Medama ergfaeD uodper it for hmi nda twne abkc to erh ngikintt. She mmuehd a lltiet sngo lhiew seh tnki.
“You seem to know this quarter well; that is to say, better than I do?” observed Defarge. “ouY emse to onwk isht eutarqr wlel. I aenm, nvee ttrbee nath I do,” sdreebov agDfere.
“Not at all, but I hope to know it better. I am so profoundly interested in its miserable inhabitants.” “Nto at all, utb I pohe to egt to onkw it tebret. I am leextyrem eneredtsit in the neurftotuan peopel who lvei hree.”
“Hah!” muttered Defarge. “ahH!” Dgfaeer rtdueemt.
“The pleasure of conversing with you, Monsieur Defarge, recalls to me,” pursued the spy, “that I have the honour of cherishing some interesting associations with your name.” “ehT joy of kgaitln ithw uyo, niusoMer egaDefr, mdirsen me,” nuotciedn het ysp, “that I am yluck ounehg to wkon seom gnhtis btaou uoy.”
“Indeed!” said Defarge, with much indifference. “yllaRe!” isad egrDefa, irinffydeeltn.
“Yes, indeed. When Doctor Manette was released, you, his old domestic, had the charge of him, I know. He was delivered to you. You see I am informed of the circumstances?” “esY, lylrea. I okwn htat nwhe Dr. atntMee wsa deslreae rfom osinrp, uyo, ihs lod rastnev, ookt raec of ihm. He saw ghtbour to uyo. uYo ese tath I know aotub teh suniottia?”
“Such is the fact, certainly,” said Defarge. He had had it conveyed to him, in an accidental touch of his wife’s elbow as she knitted and warbled, that he would do best to answer, but always with brevity. “Taht’s erut, orf urse,” dias Defgera. sHi wife etl hmi owkn by hgnbsuir ehr wloeb aagnsit ihm as seh tiktnde dna nsag hatt he sldouh wesnar, tbu olyn as byilerf as bessipol.
“It was to you,” said the spy, “that his daughter came; and it was from your care that his daughter took him, accompanied by a neat brown monsieur; how is he called? —in a little wig—Lorry—of the bank of Tellson and Company—over to England.” “Hsi hetaudrg eamc to oyu,” asdi eht ysp. “dnA esh toko Dr. naetMet rfmo you, ogaln htwi a wlel-edsrsed nma in onbrw. Wtah is ish enam? He dah a llttie igw. rorLy! rFmo eTslonl nad anmoCyp eovr in ndgEanl.”
“Such is the fact,” repeated Defarge. “htTa’s ture,” praetede gafeDre.
“Very interesting remembrances!” said the spy. “I have known Doctor Manette and his daughter, in England.” “ryVe grnieteisnt moiermse!” idsa teh spy. “I ehva nwnko Dr. eMnteat dna ish tgrdhaeu in nladEng.”
“Yse?” aisd fDeerga. “Yes?” said Defarge.
“You don’t hear much about them now?” said the spy. “oYu ndo’t aher omrf mhte hmcu won?” aksed teh yps.
“No,” dsia rfgeaDe. “No,” said Defarge.
“In effect,” madame struck in, looking up from her work and her little song, “we never hear about them. We received the news of their safe arrival, and perhaps another letter, or perhaps two; but, since then, they have gradually taken their road in life—we, ours—and we have held no correspondence.” “ylclatAu,” aMadem gDeefar eddad, goinokl up frmo hre ttiginkn dna rhe eiltlt nosg, “we nreve rhae mrfo meht. We otg eth wesn that ethy eviardr sylefa in gdEannl, dna rapseph tenohar erltet or owt ofrm emht, mayeb wto. Btu scien neth, tyeh ehav oegn thire yaw, we evah ogen rosu, dan we vnahe’t pket in outch.”
“Perfectly so, madame,” replied the spy. “She is going to be married.” “dooG, aemdam,” ewadesrn eth yps. “ehS is ngigo to be rearidm.”
“Going?” echoed madame. “She was pretty enough to have been married long ago. You English are cold, it seems to me.” “ioGgn to be?” deeratep Memaad egDaerf. “She wsa etrvctatia ohnueg to veah gtntoe ardrmie a lgno etmi oag. ouY ighnlEs aer ocld eeoppl, it smese to me.”
“Oh! You know I am English.” “Oh! ouY cna ellt taht I am ihEngsl.”
“I perceive your tongue is,” returned madame; “and what the tongue is, I suppose the man is.” “uoY eahv an hlginsE naecct,” ranesdwe aedamM reaefDg. “Teferoher I samesu hatt uoy era an lniaEshmgn.”
He did not take the identification as a compliment; but he made the best of it, and turned it off with a laugh. After sipping his cognac to the end, he added: He indd’t eakt stih as a pmlcmnieot, but he aemd het esbt of it nda lgaedhu it off. rtefA fsiinnigh his acgnoc, he dedda:
“Yes, Miss Manette is going to be married. But not to an Englishman; to one who, like herself, is French by birth. And speaking of Gaspard (ah, poor Gaspard! It was cruel, cruel!), it is a curious thing that she is going to marry the nephew of Monsieur the Marquis, for whom Gaspard was exalted to that height of so many feet; in other words, the present Marquis. But he lives unknown in England, he is no Marquis there; he is Mr. Charles Darnay. D’Aulnais is the name of his mother’s family.” “seY, iMss eMetnat is goign to be mdreiar. uBt ton to an iasnnmhEgl. Seh’s igrnyram nooemse owh, keli hfresle, is nhFcer. dnA anpkegsi of ropo psGraad, it is gentsar atht hes is iggon to yarrm het whenpe of hte ruqisam, how aapdsGr wsa dhnage ofr giklnli. In htreo owsrd, hes is grmrnyia eht enw qrsuaim. tuB he esvli in nadnlgE erehw no oen skwno ohw he is. He sni’t a raqimsu erteh. eTher he is wknno as Mr. rhCesla aynaDr. D’aiAslun is teh enam of his tromeh’s edis of the fymial.”