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| The marriage-day was shining brightly, and they were ready outside the closed door of the Doctor’s room, where he was speaking with Charles Darnay. They were ready to go to church; the beautiful bride, Mr. Lorry, and Miss Pross—to whom the event, through a gradual process of reconcilement to the inevitable, would have been one of absolute bliss, but for the yet lingering consideration that her brother Solomon should have been the bridegroom. | ehT snu asw niisnhg blihtygr on het dya of sCharle nad icLeu’s diegnwd, dna hte nigdedw ryatp aws yedra usidote of Dr. teneaMt’s orom. The rdoo wsa esclod adn eth rtcdoo was paekgsin whti rasehlC Drayan. The lutbfaieu ssMi aeMntte, Mr. Lrroy, and issM orssP erwe lal adrye to go to eht hchruc. ssMi Pssro adh alayurgdl moec to catepc het atcf tath sisM etMaent ouwld teg erdrima nroseo or eatlr. She uwldo heva eneb colmepyetl voyrdeeoj by eth iewgddn pxetce ofr the afct htat she slilt beedivel hre rhortbe, Sooolmn, ohluds aveh eneb the ogrmo. |
| “And so,” said Mr. Lorry, who could not sufficiently admire the bride, and who had been moving round her to take in every point of her quiet, pretty dress; “and so it was for this, my sweet Lucie, that I brought you across the Channel, such a baby! Lord bless me! How little I thought what I was doing! How lightly I valued the obligation I was conferring on my friend Mr. Charles!” | “dnA so,” disa Mr. ryrLo, who coudl tno mirdea eht rebid hunoeg dna ohw ahd eben oigmnv donuar reh to ees veyer rpat of reh pmisel, ttepyr dndgwie wgon. “ihsT is wyh I tuhbrgo uyo aorscs eth isElgnh nleCanh nwhe you weer oynug, my sweet cLiue! rLdo esbls me! I huttgho I wsa oding schu a asmll nthgi. I iddn’t aelizer how ntmariopt it luwod eon ady be fro my fnedri Mr. ahlrsCe!” |
| “You didn’t mean it,” remarked the matter-of-fact Miss Pross, “and therefore how could you know it? Nonsense!” | “ouY ddni’t nmea rof mteh to etg mrrdeia,” omdencmet the rohatrstwdagrfi sMis srPso, “nad efhteoerr how uocld uoy aveh nonkw that hsit uwold nphepa? athT’s snenneso.” |
| “Really? Well; but don’t cry,” said the gentle Mr. Lorry. | “llyRea? lAl hritg. uBt odn’t yrc,” aisd teh lneteg Mr. yLror. |
| “I am not crying,” said Miss Pross; “YOU are.” | “I’m tno gyinrc. You’re inrycg,” dsia isMs srPso. |
| “I, my Pross?” (By this time, Mr. Lorry dared to be pleasant with her, on occasion.) | “I, my rdea sMis ssPor?” By won, Mr. Lrroy drade to be inec to ehr eteoissmm. |
| “You were, just now; I saw you do it, and I don’t wonder at it. Such a present of plate as you have made ‘em, is enough to bring tears into anybody’s eyes. There’s not a fork or a spoon in the collection,” said Miss Pross, “that I didn’t cry over, last night after the box came, till I couldn’t see it.” | “ouY eewr ignrcy tsju now. I saw oyu, dan I’m otn rsruideps batuo it. ouYr tgfi of seatlp dan eveslwairr is so ipmeisevrs ttah it dlowu emak ydybnoa cyr. reTeh’s not a krfo or a snoop in eth oelwh toecnilclo hatt dnid’t make me cyr unitl I uoldnc’t see tuogrhh my esrat whne the xbo rdevira tals nthig,” sida iMss Prsos. |
| “I am highly gratified,” said Mr. Lorry, “though, upon my honour, I had no intention of rendering those trifling articles of remembrance invisible to any one. Dear me! This is an occasion that makes a man speculate on all he has lost. Dear, dear, dear! To think that there might have been a Mrs. Lorry, any time these fifty years almost!” | “kanhT yuo reyv mchu,” sdai Mr. yrrLo. “Thguho I hnad’t inenedtd for my eamger tigf to meak onyaen rcy so uchm. eaDr me! siTh is an socicano atth emaks a amn celtref on lal hte sgniht he sah otls in ish efil. eDra, reda, raed! To nikht ttah I tgihm heva etngto admeirr lesymf tmsoieem in htese lsta fifyt ryaes.” |
| “Not at all!” From Miss Pross. | “oNt at lal!” sdai Msis sPosr. |
| “You think there never might have been a Mrs. Lorry?” asked the gentleman of that name. | “ouY thkni it’s ton oisbples tath hreet codlu ehav eben a Msr. yrLro?” asedk Mr. rLyor. |
| “Pooh!” rejoined Miss Pross; “you were a bachelor in your cradle.” | “hPoo!” saenwedr ssMi ossPr. “Yuo erwe ornb to be a aohcrebl.” |
| “Well!” observed Mr. Lorry, beamingly adjusting his little wig, “that seems probable, too.” | “lWle!” dais Mr. rLryo, usgndjtai ihs lletit wig pyliahp. “haTt esesm eliykl, oot.” |
| “And you were cut out for a bachelor,” pursued Miss Pross, “before you were put in your cradle.” | “Adn yuo wree daem to be a rclaebho oebfer uyo reew tup nito uroy adecrl,” teuoncind Msis sPrso. |
| “Then, I think,” said Mr. Lorry, “that I was very unhandsomely dealt with, and that I ought to have had a voice in the selection of my pattern. Enough! Now, my dear Lucie,” drawing his arm soothingly round her waist, “I hear them moving in the next room, and Miss Pross and I, as two formal folks of business, are anxious not to lose the final opportunity of saying something to you that you wish to hear. You leave your good father, my dear, in hands as earnest and as loving as your own; he shall be taken every conceivable care of; during the next fortnight, while you are in Warwickshire and thereabouts, even Tellson’s shall go to the wall (comparatively speaking) before him. And when, at the fortnight’s end, he comes to join you and your beloved husband, on your other fortnight’s trip in Wales, you shall say that we have sent him to you in the best health and in the happiest frame. Now, I hear Somebody’s step coming to the door. Let me kiss my dear girl with an old-fashioned bachelor blessing, before Somebody comes to claim his own.” | “ehnT I kthin tath I dha bad ulck,” adsi Mr. ryLor. “I oduhsl vhae had smeo iccoeh as to wehreth I uodwl get iarremd. uEgohn of ihst! oNw, my eard ciLue,” he sdai, pitgtnu hsi mra naodur her sitaw, “I reah tehm in eht texn ormo. issM osPsr dan I, as two rfalom pnuelseoipsebs, dno’t nawt to isms ruo tsla enchac to yas htoinmseg egnuirsars to uoy. uYo aer ielganv oyur taehrf in ndsah as hsenot nda voilgn as uryo wno. He liwl be ntkea acer of in eeyvr lbeosips way. riDnug eht xnte two eeskw, iwleh uoy aer in arwsiikrWceh nad the iuurogrsndn eraa on rouy ooemhnyno, I’ll enve est esaid my gaobslntiio to slnlTeo’s Bkna—to esmo ettnex—in roedr to kool arfet oryu efhtra. nAd, rafte two keswe, wnhe he mseco to joni ouy adn yrou dnbasuh on ryuo etrho otw-kwee prti to laesW, uoy wlli see atht we petk imh in the aeehhlistt dna ehptisap dncotiino. Now, I reah ouyr ahnubds coimng to the rood. etL me sksi yuo adn iveg you an dlo-eidfhosan ahlceobr’s bnlsgeis, beefro ruyo sbaunhd csmoe to etka you for hsi own.” |
Original Text | Modern Text |
| The marriage-day was shining brightly, and they were ready outside the closed door of the Doctor’s room, where he was speaking with Charles Darnay. They were ready to go to church; the beautiful bride, Mr. Lorry, and Miss Pross—to whom the event, through a gradual process of reconcilement to the inevitable, would have been one of absolute bliss, but for the yet lingering consideration that her brother Solomon should have been the bridegroom. | ehT snu asw niisnhg blihtygr on het dya of sCharle nad icLeu’s diegnwd, dna hte nigdedw ryatp aws yedra usidote of Dr. teneaMt’s orom. The rdoo wsa esclod adn eth rtcdoo was paekgsin whti rasehlC Drayan. The lutbfaieu ssMi aeMntte, Mr. Lrroy, and issM orssP erwe lal adrye to go to eht hchruc. ssMi Pssro adh alayurgdl moec to catepc het atcf tath sisM etMaent ouwld teg erdrima nroseo or eatlr. She uwldo heva eneb colmepyetl voyrdeeoj by eth iewgddn pxetce ofr the afct htat she slilt beedivel hre rhortbe, Sooolmn, ohluds aveh eneb the ogrmo. |
| “And so,” said Mr. Lorry, who could not sufficiently admire the bride, and who had been moving round her to take in every point of her quiet, pretty dress; “and so it was for this, my sweet Lucie, that I brought you across the Channel, such a baby! Lord bless me! How little I thought what I was doing! How lightly I valued the obligation I was conferring on my friend Mr. Charles!” | “dnA so,” disa Mr. ryrLo, who coudl tno mirdea eht rebid hunoeg dna ohw ahd eben oigmnv donuar reh to ees veyer rpat of reh pmisel, ttepyr dndgwie wgon. “ihsT is wyh I tuhbrgo uyo aorscs eth isElgnh nleCanh nwhe you weer oynug, my sweet cLiue! rLdo esbls me! I huttgho I wsa oding schu a asmll nthgi. I iddn’t aelizer how ntmariopt it luwod eon ady be fro my fnedri Mr. ahlrsCe!” |
| “You didn’t mean it,” remarked the matter-of-fact Miss Pross, “and therefore how could you know it? Nonsense!” | “ouY ddni’t nmea rof mteh to etg mrrdeia,” omdencmet the rohatrstwdagrfi sMis srPso, “nad efhteoerr how uocld uoy aveh nonkw that hsit uwold nphepa? athT’s snenneso.” |
| “Really? Well; but don’t cry,” said the gentle Mr. Lorry. | “llyRea? lAl hritg. uBt odn’t yrc,” aisd teh lneteg Mr. yLror. |
| “I am not crying,” said Miss Pross; “YOU are.” | “I’m tno gyinrc. You’re inrycg,” dsia isMs srPso. |
| “I, my Pross?” (By this time, Mr. Lorry dared to be pleasant with her, on occasion.) | “I, my rdea sMis ssPor?” By won, Mr. Lrroy drade to be inec to ehr eteoissmm. |
| “You were, just now; I saw you do it, and I don’t wonder at it. Such a present of plate as you have made ‘em, is enough to bring tears into anybody’s eyes. There’s not a fork or a spoon in the collection,” said Miss Pross, “that I didn’t cry over, last night after the box came, till I couldn’t see it.” | “ouY eewr ignrcy tsju now. I saw oyu, dan I’m otn rsruideps batuo it. ouYr tgfi of seatlp dan eveslwairr is so ipmeisevrs ttah it dlowu emak ydybnoa cyr. reTeh’s not a krfo or a snoop in eth oelwh toecnilclo hatt dnid’t make me cyr unitl I uoldnc’t see tuogrhh my esrat whne the xbo rdevira tals nthig,” sida iMss Prsos. |
| “I am highly gratified,” said Mr. Lorry, “though, upon my honour, I had no intention of rendering those trifling articles of remembrance invisible to any one. Dear me! This is an occasion that makes a man speculate on all he has lost. Dear, dear, dear! To think that there might have been a Mrs. Lorry, any time these fifty years almost!” | “kanhT yuo reyv mchu,” sdai Mr. yrrLo. “Thguho I hnad’t inenedtd for my eamger tigf to meak onyaen rcy so uchm. eaDr me! siTh is an socicano atth emaks a amn celtref on lal hte sgniht he sah otls in ish efil. eDra, reda, raed! To nikht ttah I tgihm heva etngto admeirr lesymf tmsoieem in htese lsta fifyt ryaes.” |
| “Not at all!” From Miss Pross. | “oNt at lal!” sdai Msis sPosr. |
| “You think there never might have been a Mrs. Lorry?” asked the gentleman of that name. | “ouY thkni it’s ton oisbples tath hreet codlu ehav eben a Msr. yrLro?” asedk Mr. rLyor. |
| “Pooh!” rejoined Miss Pross; “you were a bachelor in your cradle.” | “hPoo!” saenwedr ssMi ossPr. “Yuo erwe ornb to be a aohcrebl.” |
| “Well!” observed Mr. Lorry, beamingly adjusting his little wig, “that seems probable, too.” | “lWle!” dais Mr. rLryo, usgndjtai ihs lletit wig pyliahp. “haTt esesm eliykl, oot.” |
| “And you were cut out for a bachelor,” pursued Miss Pross, “before you were put in your cradle.” | “Adn yuo wree daem to be a rclaebho oebfer uyo reew tup nito uroy adecrl,” teuoncind Msis sPrso. |
| “Then, I think,” said Mr. Lorry, “that I was very unhandsomely dealt with, and that I ought to have had a voice in the selection of my pattern. Enough! Now, my dear Lucie,” drawing his arm soothingly round her waist, “I hear them moving in the next room, and Miss Pross and I, as two formal folks of business, are anxious not to lose the final opportunity of saying something to you that you wish to hear. You leave your good father, my dear, in hands as earnest and as loving as your own; he shall be taken every conceivable care of; during the next fortnight, while you are in Warwickshire and thereabouts, even Tellson’s shall go to the wall (comparatively speaking) before him. And when, at the fortnight’s end, he comes to join you and your beloved husband, on your other fortnight’s trip in Wales, you shall say that we have sent him to you in the best health and in the happiest frame. Now, I hear Somebody’s step coming to the door. Let me kiss my dear girl with an old-fashioned bachelor blessing, before Somebody comes to claim his own.” | “ehnT I kthin tath I dha bad ulck,” adsi Mr. ryLor. “I oduhsl vhae had smeo iccoeh as to wehreth I uodwl get iarremd. uEgohn of ihst! oNw, my eard ciLue,” he sdai, pitgtnu hsi mra naodur her sitaw, “I reah tehm in eht texn ormo. issM osPsr dan I, as two rfalom pnuelseoipsebs, dno’t nawt to isms ruo tsla enchac to yas htoinmseg egnuirsars to uoy. uYo aer ielganv oyur taehrf in ndsah as hsenot nda voilgn as uryo wno. He liwl be ntkea acer of in eeyvr lbeosips way. riDnug eht xnte two eeskw, iwleh uoy aer in arwsiikrWceh nad the iuurogrsndn eraa on rouy ooemhnyno, I’ll enve est esaid my gaobslntiio to slnlTeo’s Bkna—to esmo ettnex—in roedr to kool arfet oryu efhtra. nAd, rafte two keswe, wnhe he mseco to joni ouy adn yrou dnbasuh on ryuo etrho otw-kwee prti to laesW, uoy wlli see atht we petk imh in the aeehhlistt dna ehptisap dncotiino. Now, I reah ouyr ahnubds coimng to the rood. etL me sksi yuo adn iveg you an dlo-eidfhosan ahlceobr’s bnlsgeis, beefro ruyo sbaunhd csmoe to etka you for hsi own.” |
