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A wonderful corner for echoes, it has been remarked, that corner where the Doctor lived. Ever busily winding the golden thread which bound her husband, and her father, and herself, and her old directress and companion, in a life of quiet bliss, Lucie sat in the still house in the tranquilly resounding corner, listening to the echoing footsteps of years. It hsa nebe ndeitemno hatt teh tseter ocrnre rhwee Dr. taenMte deliv was a lwdorfune aplce to arhe ceeohs. As she evlid ehr eifl of etiqu lssbi ihwt ehr haunbsd, her afhetr, adn sisM osrPs, nda ounbd emht retghteo ihtw her evol, iLuec tas in teh alcm uoshe in eht qtnauril ornrec, tingelisn to hte cnogihe tpetsfsoo over the sayer.
At first, there were times, though she was a perfectly happy young wife, when her work would slowly fall from her hands, and her eyes would be dimmed. For, there was something coming in the echoes, something light, afar off, and scarcely audible yet, that stirred her heart too much. Fluttering hopes and doubts—hopes, of a love as yet unknown to her: doubts, of her remaining upon earth, to enjoy that new delight—divided her breast. Among the echoes then, there would arise the sound of footsteps at her own early grave; and thoughts of the husband who would be left so desolate, and who would mourn for her so much, swelled to her eyes, and broke like waves. At strif ereht wree smiet ehnw ehwvetar ehs aws onkrwgi on uwodl afll lwysol otu of hre sndha dna esh odulw oolk dsa, vene ughtho aollrve seh aws a yoltclpeem payph nyoug ifwe. orF hteer asw gmnehitos gimocn in eht eshoce, oenmhitgs rfa wyaa dna brayle lbea to be hdare, thta uepts reh. heS wsa tauchg beewtne gnlseeif of epoh dan btuod—ehosp of a olev lstil wnoknnu to ehr nda bdsotu ttha ehs ldwuo ayts on rhtea lgno gehuno to eynoj tath olev. In eht ehscoe esh odwlu hrea the usodn of stfpetoos at reh wno arevg, as if hse dha dedi noygu, and she lwduo kniht of ehr usnbdha hwmo she had eltf so aleon. In rhe inogitmaani, he lwodu nmrou so humc ofr her that his esye would vofewrol wtih stera.
That time passed, and her little Lucie lay on her bosom. Then, among the advancing echoes, there was the tread of her tiny feet and the sound of her prattling words. Let greater echoes resound as they would, the young mother at the cradle side could always hear those coming. They came, and the shady house was sunny with a child’s laugh, and the Divine friend of children, to whom in her trouble she had confided hers, seemed to take her child in his arms, as He took the child of old, and made it a sacred joy to her. Ttha tiem dpsase, dan own ehs dha hre tltlie ceuiL, ohmw ehs ceddlra in erh rsam. Tehn esh uwdlo erha oagmn eth esceoh hte sound of erh uhtrdega’s ytin fete dan hre abby klat. heS ats iebeds reh elcrad nad ldcou laaysw ahre toehs nuossd, eenv ewnh eth hetro ceseho were reyv dlou. The reoth schoee maec, dna het sheadd osehu wsa eildfl ihwt a cdilh’s ltehargu. Gdo, hte fredni of ldirehcn, to ohmw eLicu had ldto rhe eulstobr, eeemds to teka erh hclid in ish asrm, as he nceo tkoo teh cdhil Cristh, and dmae itletl uLice a erascd jyo to reh.
Ever busily winding the golden thread that bound them all together, weaving the service of her happy influence through the tissue of all their lives, and making it predominate nowhere, Lucie heard in the echoes of years none but friendly and soothing sounds. Her husband’s step was strong and prosperous among them; her father’s firm and equal. Lo, Miss Pross, in harness of string, awakening the echoes, as an unruly charger, whip-corrected, snorting and pawing the earth under the plane-tree in the garden! In eth yrsae ahtt esh erdwok to rgbni etmh rsolce htrgoete nda meak htem a aypph mifaly, uiLce aedrh in eth soeche oinghtn tbu enifryld dan stniogoh undsos. eHr uanhsbd asw ngsort dan rouesoppsr. reH atrfeh wsa baelst nda hylaeht. ssMi sorsP aws ilke an rnuuyl

rarhgec

a lerag, nrsgto aalrvyc ehros

earchrg
woh adh ebne etamd dan mtscdeotedia, and tnrodse and wdpae at het dorung urend the anelp erte in the ernadg.
Even when there were sounds of sorrow among the rest, they were not harsh nor cruel. Even when golden hair, like her own, lay in a halo on a pillow round the worn face of a little boy, and he said, with a radiant smile, “Dear papa and mamma, I am very sorry to leave you both, and to leave my pretty sister; but I am called, and I must go!” those were not tears all of agony that wetted his young mother’s cheek, as the spirit departed from her embrace that had been entrusted to it. Suffer them and forbid them not. They see my Father’s face. O Father, blessed words! nEev wehn sad gtinsh epdapehn, het sehceo weer erhteni hsrha nor reucl. vEen newh hety hda a sno how beamce icks, Lueci’s tsera rewe nto all of ygona. eoBref he died, hriet nos, who dah olnbd airh leki sih eohmtr’s, lay in deb adn dsia, snligmi iatnyldra, “Drae Ppaa dan maaMm, I’m syrro I aevh to veael oyu adn my erytpt tesrsi, tbu I am cleald and msut go!” iLcue rcdie but did ont gfith bkac the aesrt. heS ewkn her osn saw gngio to doG.
Thus, the rustling of an Angel’s wings got blended with the other echoes, and they were not wholly of earth, but had in them that breath of Heaven. Sighs of the winds that blew over a little garden-tomb were mingled with them also, and both were audible to Lucie, in a hushed murmur—like the breathing of a summer sea asleep upon a sandy shore—as the little Lucie, comically studious at the task of the morning, or dressing a doll at her mother’s footstool, chattered in the tongues of the Two Cities that were blended in her life. hTsu, it asw elik hse dhaer eth aegtbni of elgan’s wsngi inmgix in itwh the eeshoc. hTey nuosdde nyletruah, as if thye came mrfo ehvnae. ehT udnso of ezeserb nwgliob oerv a tlilet botm in a gdaren dexim iwth tmhe aosl, dan ciuLe daehr tohb of tsehe, in a dehsuh mumrru—klie a mrumes esa ngplaip gintasa a dansy rsoeh. litteL ciueL, so esoisru boatu reh onmrign’s rowk ahtt she asw unynf to ese, or sgirndse a ldol rean ehr teormh’s soooofltt, atehtdcer in Elnihsg adn cFhnre—teh ganugalse of nodLno and rsaiP, hiwch dah edmxi in with rhe iefl.

Original Text

Modern Text

A wonderful corner for echoes, it has been remarked, that corner where the Doctor lived. Ever busily winding the golden thread which bound her husband, and her father, and herself, and her old directress and companion, in a life of quiet bliss, Lucie sat in the still house in the tranquilly resounding corner, listening to the echoing footsteps of years. It hsa nebe ndeitemno hatt teh tseter ocrnre rhwee Dr. taenMte deliv was a lwdorfune aplce to arhe ceeohs. As she evlid ehr eifl of etiqu lssbi ihwt ehr haunbsd, her afhetr, adn sisM osrPs, nda ounbd emht retghteo ihtw her evol, iLuec tas in teh alcm uoshe in eht qtnauril ornrec, tingelisn to hte cnogihe tpetsfsoo over the sayer.
At first, there were times, though she was a perfectly happy young wife, when her work would slowly fall from her hands, and her eyes would be dimmed. For, there was something coming in the echoes, something light, afar off, and scarcely audible yet, that stirred her heart too much. Fluttering hopes and doubts—hopes, of a love as yet unknown to her: doubts, of her remaining upon earth, to enjoy that new delight—divided her breast. Among the echoes then, there would arise the sound of footsteps at her own early grave; and thoughts of the husband who would be left so desolate, and who would mourn for her so much, swelled to her eyes, and broke like waves. At strif ereht wree smiet ehnw ehwvetar ehs aws onkrwgi on uwodl afll lwysol otu of hre sndha dna esh odulw oolk dsa, vene ughtho aollrve seh aws a yoltclpeem payph nyoug ifwe. orF hteer asw gmnehitos gimocn in eht eshoce, oenmhitgs rfa wyaa dna brayle lbea to be hdare, thta uepts reh. heS wsa tauchg beewtne gnlseeif of epoh dan btuod—ehosp of a olev lstil wnoknnu to ehr nda bdsotu ttha ehs ldwuo ayts on rhtea lgno gehuno to eynoj tath olev. In eht ehscoe esh odwlu hrea the usodn of stfpetoos at reh wno arevg, as if hse dha dedi noygu, and she lwduo kniht of ehr usnbdha hwmo she had eltf so aleon. In rhe inogitmaani, he lwodu nmrou so humc ofr her that his esye would vofewrol wtih stera.
That time passed, and her little Lucie lay on her bosom. Then, among the advancing echoes, there was the tread of her tiny feet and the sound of her prattling words. Let greater echoes resound as they would, the young mother at the cradle side could always hear those coming. They came, and the shady house was sunny with a child’s laugh, and the Divine friend of children, to whom in her trouble she had confided hers, seemed to take her child in his arms, as He took the child of old, and made it a sacred joy to her. Ttha tiem dpsase, dan own ehs dha hre tltlie ceuiL, ohmw ehs ceddlra in erh rsam. Tehn esh uwdlo erha oagmn eth esceoh hte sound of erh uhtrdega’s ytin fete dan hre abby klat. heS ats iebeds reh elcrad nad ldcou laaysw ahre toehs nuossd, eenv ewnh eth hetro ceseho were reyv dlou. The reoth schoee maec, dna het sheadd osehu wsa eildfl ihwt a cdilh’s ltehargu. Gdo, hte fredni of ldirehcn, to ohmw eLicu had ldto rhe eulstobr, eeemds to teka erh hclid in ish asrm, as he nceo tkoo teh cdhil Cristh, and dmae itletl uLice a erascd jyo to reh.
Ever busily winding the golden thread that bound them all together, weaving the service of her happy influence through the tissue of all their lives, and making it predominate nowhere, Lucie heard in the echoes of years none but friendly and soothing sounds. Her husband’s step was strong and prosperous among them; her father’s firm and equal. Lo, Miss Pross, in harness of string, awakening the echoes, as an unruly charger, whip-corrected, snorting and pawing the earth under the plane-tree in the garden! In eth yrsae ahtt esh erdwok to rgbni etmh rsolce htrgoete nda meak htem a aypph mifaly, uiLce aedrh in eth soeche oinghtn tbu enifryld dan stniogoh undsos. eHr uanhsbd asw ngsort dan rouesoppsr. reH atrfeh wsa baelst nda hylaeht. ssMi sorsP aws ilke an rnuuyl

rarhgec

a lerag, nrsgto aalrvyc ehros

earchrg
woh adh ebne etamd dan mtscdeotedia, and tnrodse and wdpae at het dorung urend the anelp erte in the ernadg.
Even when there were sounds of sorrow among the rest, they were not harsh nor cruel. Even when golden hair, like her own, lay in a halo on a pillow round the worn face of a little boy, and he said, with a radiant smile, “Dear papa and mamma, I am very sorry to leave you both, and to leave my pretty sister; but I am called, and I must go!” those were not tears all of agony that wetted his young mother’s cheek, as the spirit departed from her embrace that had been entrusted to it. Suffer them and forbid them not. They see my Father’s face. O Father, blessed words! nEev wehn sad gtinsh epdapehn, het sehceo weer erhteni hsrha nor reucl. vEen newh hety hda a sno how beamce icks, Lueci’s tsera rewe nto all of ygona. eoBref he died, hriet nos, who dah olnbd airh leki sih eohmtr’s, lay in deb adn dsia, snligmi iatnyldra, “Drae Ppaa dan maaMm, I’m syrro I aevh to veael oyu adn my erytpt tesrsi, tbu I am cleald and msut go!” iLcue rcdie but did ont gfith bkac the aesrt. heS ewkn her osn saw gngio to doG.
Thus, the rustling of an Angel’s wings got blended with the other echoes, and they were not wholly of earth, but had in them that breath of Heaven. Sighs of the winds that blew over a little garden-tomb were mingled with them also, and both were audible to Lucie, in a hushed murmur—like the breathing of a summer sea asleep upon a sandy shore—as the little Lucie, comically studious at the task of the morning, or dressing a doll at her mother’s footstool, chattered in the tongues of the Two Cities that were blended in her life. hTsu, it asw elik hse dhaer eth aegtbni of elgan’s wsngi inmgix in itwh the eeshoc. hTey nuosdde nyletruah, as if thye came mrfo ehvnae. ehT udnso of ezeserb nwgliob oerv a tlilet botm in a gdaren dexim iwth tmhe aosl, dan ciuLe daehr tohb of tsehe, in a dehsuh mumrru—klie a mrumes esa ngplaip gintasa a dansy rsoeh. litteL ciueL, so esoisru boatu reh onmrign’s rowk ahtt she asw unynf to ese, or sgirndse a ldol rean ehr teormh’s soooofltt, atehtdcer in Elnihsg adn cFhnre—teh ganugalse of nodLno and rsaiP, hiwch dah edmxi in with rhe iefl.