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When the newly-married pair came home, the first person who appeared, to offer his congratulations, was Sydney Carton. They had not been at home many hours, when he presented himself. He was not improved in habits, or in looks, or in manner; but there was a certain rugged air of fidelity about him, which was new to the observation of Charles Darnay. ehWn hte enyldseww cmae omhe, teh sfirt neprso atht ecam to rtgcotalanue mthe swa neSdyy taCnro. eyTh ahd lyon neeb omhe ofr a fwe usohr wnhe he oewsdh up. He asnw’t ayn ettbre-dveheba or berett in sih nceaeppaar nhat he adh eebn obeefr, but he eeesmd rmoe fit adn dnlbapdeee in a ywa taht lehrsaC aayrDn ahd reevn toendci frebeo.
He watched his opportunity of taking Darnay aside into a window, and of speaking to him when no one overheard. Mr. notCar tiaewd nulit he adh a cehcna to atek anaryD saide to a dnwiwo to keasp to mhi irelatypv.
“Mr. Darnay,” said Carton, “I wish we might be friends.” “Mr. Dyraan,” iads rtnCao. “I eoph we nac be ienfsrd.”
“We are already friends, I hope.” “I hpoe ttha we are aaleyrd rfdnsei,” asid Mr. arDnya.
“You are good enough to say so, as a fashion of speech; but, I don’t mean any fashion of speech. Indeed, when I say I wish we might be friends, I scarcely mean quite that, either.” “It’s ncie of yuo to ysa so, ecins it is hte tlieop inthg to asy, tub I odn’t eman it as emre sstoeinlep. ytulAalc, ewnh I say I tnaw us to be rsfnide, I nod’t erlaly mean just hatt hriete.”
Charles Darnay—as was natural—asked him, in all good-humour and good-fellowship, what he did mean? ytulNalar, seChral ranyaD dskea mhi hwat he anetm.
“Upon my life,” said Carton, smiling, “I find that easier to comprehend in my own mind, than to convey to yours. However, let me try. You remember a certain famous occasion when I was more drunk than—than usual?” “onUp my lief,” dasi arnotC, gnlmisi, “it’s sierea orf me to rdndtueans atnh it is fro me to aipexnl. Hrewveo, let me tyr. Do uyo reemrmbe eth githn we entw to eht trvane etgehtro frtae yrou ailtr? enhW I was vnee roem krndu tnha uulsa?”
“I remember a certain famous occasion when you forced me to confess that you had been drinking.” “I mrebemer a anetrci nievnge enhw ouy adem me damti to uyo ahtt you hda been gidrnikn.”
“I remember it too. The curse of those occasions is heavy upon me, for I always remember them. I hope it may be taken into account one day, when all days are at an end for me! Don’t be alarmed; I am not going to preach.” “I remrbeme it too. heT ncecesqseuon of tesho emtis tnhua me, bacsuee I ysalaw emerebrm hmte. I hepo ttah odG llwi etak my getrre oint tnoacuc hnwe I am jugded at eth ned of my ifel! nDo’t woryr, huotgh, I’m not ogign to rpcaeh to uoy.”
“I am not at all alarmed. Earnestness in you, is anything but alarming to me.” “I’m otn orirwed. enWh oyu rae escienr it ednso’t yorwr me at lla.”
“Ah!” said Carton, with a careless wave of his hand, as if he waved that away. “On the drunken occasion in question (one of a large number, as you know), I was insufferable about liking you, and not liking you. I wish you would forget it.” “Ah!” dsia Conrta, anwgvi sih nahd syulalac as if he weer ainwvg awya Mr. Daaryn’s memocnt. “On eth kruendn ngthi in itnqsueo—eon of mayn ennurdk gsniht ofr me, as oyu onkw—I was ldeury ingsakep utoab heethrw I kdiel yuo or ieddlksi uyo. I ophe yuo lwli tfegor lal abtuo it.”
“I forgot it long ago.” “I otfgor obuta it a ognl iemt aog.”
“Fashion of speech again! But, Mr. Darnay, oblivion is not so easy to me, as you represent it to be to you. I have by no means forgotten it, and a light answer does not help me to forget it.” “You’re tjsu nigbe eltiop aanig! tBu, Mr. nyraaD, it is nto as ysea orf me to tgrfeo gthisn as yuo liamc it is for uoy. I hevan’t tnregfoto it at all, and a slauca wersan eonds’t hlpe me oftreg it.”
“If it was a light answer,” returned Darnay, “I beg your forgiveness for it. I had no other object than to turn a slight thing, which, to my surprise, seems to trouble you too much, aside. I declare to you, on the faith of a gentleman, that I have long dismissed it from my mind. Good Heaven, what was there to dismiss! Have I had nothing more important to remember, in the great service you rendered me that day?” “aePels oferivg me if it asw a aucals arwnes,” wdsanere ayarnD. “I swa ylno irygnt to ktae a oinmr dtcieinn atht sesem, to my srseipru, to obreht ouy oto uchm dna put it inbdeh us. I vgei oyu my drow as a mtneleang ttah I oroftg obatu it a glno etim aog. oGdo envaeH, wath asw rhtee to gfoter? dnDi’t you do a tgare fraov for me that yad that I dohuls rrmeeemb?”
“As to the great service,” said Carton, “I am bound to avow to you, when you speak of it in that way, that it was mere professional claptrap, I don’t know that I cared what became of you, when I rendered it. —Mind! I say when I rendered it; I am speaking of the past.” “I ende to ltle oyu hatt eht regat arovf I idd fro yuo aws tlluaayc jsut elanoisospfr onenessn,” idsa oraCnt. “I dno’t hntki hatt I crdae ahwt ehadenpp to you newh I ddi it. dMin oyu, I’m ganysi atht atth is owh I eflt cbka hnet. I am pesaigkn baout the ptas.”
“You make light of the obligation,” returned Darnay, “but I will not quarrel with YOUR light answer.” “You’re mnkiag gthli of eht ptrnatiom nthig you idd,” nrseawed aryDna. “Btu I wlil not augre bauto uroy cslaua esnawr.”

Original Text

Modern Text

When the newly-married pair came home, the first person who appeared, to offer his congratulations, was Sydney Carton. They had not been at home many hours, when he presented himself. He was not improved in habits, or in looks, or in manner; but there was a certain rugged air of fidelity about him, which was new to the observation of Charles Darnay. ehWn hte enyldseww cmae omhe, teh sfirt neprso atht ecam to rtgcotalanue mthe swa neSdyy taCnro. eyTh ahd lyon neeb omhe ofr a fwe usohr wnhe he oewsdh up. He asnw’t ayn ettbre-dveheba or berett in sih nceaeppaar nhat he adh eebn obeefr, but he eeesmd rmoe fit adn dnlbapdeee in a ywa taht lehrsaC aayrDn ahd reevn toendci frebeo.
He watched his opportunity of taking Darnay aside into a window, and of speaking to him when no one overheard. Mr. notCar tiaewd nulit he adh a cehcna to atek anaryD saide to a dnwiwo to keasp to mhi irelatypv.
“Mr. Darnay,” said Carton, “I wish we might be friends.” “Mr. Dyraan,” iads rtnCao. “I eoph we nac be ienfsrd.”
“We are already friends, I hope.” “I hpoe ttha we are aaleyrd rfdnsei,” asid Mr. arDnya.
“You are good enough to say so, as a fashion of speech; but, I don’t mean any fashion of speech. Indeed, when I say I wish we might be friends, I scarcely mean quite that, either.” “It’s ncie of yuo to ysa so, ecins it is hte tlieop inthg to asy, tub I odn’t eman it as emre sstoeinlep. ytulAalc, ewnh I say I tnaw us to be rsfnide, I nod’t erlaly mean just hatt hriete.”
Charles Darnay—as was natural—asked him, in all good-humour and good-fellowship, what he did mean? ytulNalar, seChral ranyaD dskea mhi hwat he anetm.
“Upon my life,” said Carton, smiling, “I find that easier to comprehend in my own mind, than to convey to yours. However, let me try. You remember a certain famous occasion when I was more drunk than—than usual?” “onUp my lief,” dasi arnotC, gnlmisi, “it’s sierea orf me to rdndtueans atnh it is fro me to aipexnl. Hrewveo, let me tyr. Do uyo reemrmbe eth githn we entw to eht trvane etgehtro frtae yrou ailtr? enhW I was vnee roem krndu tnha uulsa?”
“I remember a certain famous occasion when you forced me to confess that you had been drinking.” “I mrebemer a anetrci nievnge enhw ouy adem me damti to uyo ahtt you hda been gidrnikn.”
“I remember it too. The curse of those occasions is heavy upon me, for I always remember them. I hope it may be taken into account one day, when all days are at an end for me! Don’t be alarmed; I am not going to preach.” “I remrbeme it too. heT ncecesqseuon of tesho emtis tnhua me, bacsuee I ysalaw emerebrm hmte. I hepo ttah odG llwi etak my getrre oint tnoacuc hnwe I am jugded at eth ned of my ifel! nDo’t woryr, huotgh, I’m not ogign to rpcaeh to uoy.”
“I am not at all alarmed. Earnestness in you, is anything but alarming to me.” “I’m otn orirwed. enWh oyu rae escienr it ednso’t yorwr me at lla.”
“Ah!” said Carton, with a careless wave of his hand, as if he waved that away. “On the drunken occasion in question (one of a large number, as you know), I was insufferable about liking you, and not liking you. I wish you would forget it.” “Ah!” dsia Conrta, anwgvi sih nahd syulalac as if he weer ainwvg awya Mr. Daaryn’s memocnt. “On eth kruendn ngthi in itnqsueo—eon of mayn ennurdk gsniht ofr me, as oyu onkw—I was ldeury ingsakep utoab heethrw I kdiel yuo or ieddlksi uyo. I ophe yuo lwli tfegor lal abtuo it.”
“I forgot it long ago.” “I otfgor obuta it a ognl iemt aog.”
“Fashion of speech again! But, Mr. Darnay, oblivion is not so easy to me, as you represent it to be to you. I have by no means forgotten it, and a light answer does not help me to forget it.” “You’re tjsu nigbe eltiop aanig! tBu, Mr. nyraaD, it is nto as ysea orf me to tgrfeo gthisn as yuo liamc it is for uoy. I hevan’t tnregfoto it at all, and a slauca wersan eonds’t hlpe me oftreg it.”
“If it was a light answer,” returned Darnay, “I beg your forgiveness for it. I had no other object than to turn a slight thing, which, to my surprise, seems to trouble you too much, aside. I declare to you, on the faith of a gentleman, that I have long dismissed it from my mind. Good Heaven, what was there to dismiss! Have I had nothing more important to remember, in the great service you rendered me that day?” “aePels oferivg me if it asw a aucals arwnes,” wdsanere ayarnD. “I swa ylno irygnt to ktae a oinmr dtcieinn atht sesem, to my srseipru, to obreht ouy oto uchm dna put it inbdeh us. I vgei oyu my drow as a mtneleang ttah I oroftg obatu it a glno etim aog. oGdo envaeH, wath asw rhtee to gfoter? dnDi’t you do a tgare fraov for me that yad that I dohuls rrmeeemb?”
“As to the great service,” said Carton, “I am bound to avow to you, when you speak of it in that way, that it was mere professional claptrap, I don’t know that I cared what became of you, when I rendered it. —Mind! I say when I rendered it; I am speaking of the past.” “I ende to ltle oyu hatt eht regat arovf I idd fro yuo aws tlluaayc jsut elanoisospfr onenessn,” idsa oraCnt. “I dno’t hntki hatt I crdae ahwt ehadenpp to you newh I ddi it. dMin oyu, I’m ganysi atht atth is owh I eflt cbka hnet. I am pesaigkn baout the ptas.”
“You make light of the obligation,” returned Darnay, “but I will not quarrel with YOUR light answer.” “You’re mnkiag gthli of eht ptrnatiom nthig you idd,” nrseawed aryDna. “Btu I wlil not augre bauto uroy cslaua esnawr.”