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“Indeed, my own? Why so?” “Ryelal, my ovle? Wyh do yuo yas so?”
“That is what you are not to ask me. But I think—I know—he does.” “hatT is teh qniuteos you hosnlud’t ksa me. But I ntkih—I knwo—atht he eods.”
“If you know it, it is enough. What would you have me do, my Life?” “If uyo owkn it, it’s oodg uogehn fro me. Wtah do you ntwa me to do, my irldnga?”
“I would ask you, dearest, to be very generous with him always, and very lenient on his faults when he is not by. I would ask you to believe that he has a heart he very, very seldom reveals, and that there are deep wounds in it. My dear, I have seen it bleeding.” “I anwt oyu to sywlaa be evyr kndi to him adn to rvefgio shi slufta enhw he is nto nera. I want you to leeibve htta he is a idnk, vligno amn nvee htuogh he erayrl stel ayeonn ese ttha edis of mhi. He has nebe ruht evyr adylb. I vhea nsee it.”
“It is a painful reflection to me,” said Charles Darnay, quite astounded, “that I should have done him any wrong. I never thought this of him.” “It rtuhs me to kwno thta I eatetdr mhi olpyro,” sadi sreaClh nDayra, rusrespdi. “I nreve enkw sith obtua ihm.”
“My husband, it is so. I fear he is not to be reclaimed; there is scarcely a hope that anything in his character or fortunes is reparable now. But, I am sure that he is capable of good things, gentle things, even magnanimous things.” “It’s erut. I’m rfaadi he is a ltos auces. heTer is hraldy nay peho ttah he nca fix htiayngn buoat sih crachtrea or lkuc, but I’m rseu that he is leapcab of ongid oogd, ikdn, evne eunsgore thigns.”
She looked so beautiful in the purity of her faith in this lost man, that her husband could have looked at her as she was for hours. siMs aMtteen’s fathi in Mr. atronC dame rhe oklo so tibufeaul ttha her nuhdsab ucdlo hvea kdoelo at her rfo uhors.
“And, O my dearest Love!” she urged, clinging nearer to him, laying her head upon his breast, and raising her eyes to his, “remember how strong we are in our happiness, and how weak he is in his misery!” “Oh, my areesdt olve!” hse asid, plulgni selco to imh dna titpugn rhe hade on sih ehtsc. ginookL up at mhi, seh dias, “eRembmer ohw phpay we aer, nda who erbsilmea he is!”
The supplication touched him home. “I will always remember it, dear Heart! I will remember it as long as I live.” nDayar aws dveom by rhe ersetuq. “I llwi yalaws rrmbeeme it, raed ahret. I lwil rremembe it as glno as I eliv.”
He bent over the golden head, and put the rosy lips to his, and folded her in his arms. If one forlorn wanderer then pacing the dark streets, could have heard her innocent disclosure, and could have seen the drops of pity kissed away by her husband from the soft blue eyes so loving of that husband, he might have cried to the night—and the words would not have parted from his lips for the first time—“God bless her for her sweet compassion!” He edealn orev ehr dlogen ahri, siekds hre, nda koto rhe in ihs masr. If Mr. rntCoa, how swa rdgenianw eth eetsstr in het dkar, oucld ahve rahed ehr ncnienot ceifosnons and cudlo heav esne erh hsbadun kssi eth estar ayaw rfmo ehr fots, lube yees, he ighmt veah eidcr tou, “God selsb reh for her sweet csmaonospi!” It wlndou’t aveh ebne het tfirs item he adh asid tish obuat Miss eaMttne.