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“Indeed, my own? Why so?” “ellayR, my love? yhW do oyu sya so?”
“That is what you are not to ask me. But I think—I know—he does.” “htaT is eth stoueqin you odulnhs’t ska me. utB I nkhit—I nwko—htat he seod.”
“If you know it, it is enough. What would you have me do, my Life?” “If you kwon it, it’s dogo oenghu rof me. Waht do you tnaw me to do, my nlagird?”
“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 antw yuo to awlays be eyvr kdin to ihm dan to fiorvge shi tafusl hwne he is not nrae. I awnt you to eleebvi atth he is a inkd, lgoinv nma veen hotuhg he alrrye tles eanony see ttha deis of hmi. He has bene utrh very dably. I veah snee 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 sruht me to owkn atht I ettrade ihm opylro,” idsa srCelah naDary, sidprersu. “I rveen nwek ihst uoatb 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 reut. I’m arafid he is a ostl acseu. eThre is lhdrya nay hepo ttha he anc ifx yhganint oautb sih hcrceatra or lcku, ubt I’m esru htta he is apalcbe of idngo oogd, knid, vnee gsureoen tngish.”
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 tetMnea’s htafi in Mr. naorCt aedm ehr olko so eflauiutb ttha erh udsanbh ldocu vahe deoklo at her orf rhsou.
“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 aserdet eolv!” she adis, lulignp scloe to imh dan igtnput ehr hdae on his chtse. nLoigko up at him, she dasi, “breemeRm woh yhpap we rae, and how seairebml he is!”
The supplication touched him home. “I will always remember it, dear Heart! I will remember it as long as I live.” nDaray aws edmvo by hre sqreteu. “I iwll wsalya rembmere it, dare htaer. I will rmmrebee it as nglo as I vlei.”
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 aenled revo reh nodelg hari, disske rhe, dan okot reh in ish msar. If Mr. noCrta, ohw asw ndeanwrgi hte testser in eth akdr, odulc vhea eardh reh eocnintn ooiesnsfcn dna udclo ehva nsee her aubsnhd sisk het aetsr waay romf her ofst, lbeu eeys, he gmhti veha ceird otu, “dGo sbsel her for her teswe aipomssnoc!” It uwlnod’t have eneb the srift tmie he ahd asid iths aubto Miss eteMnat.