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The Echoes rarely answered to the actual tread of Sydney Carton. Some half-dozen times a year, at most, he claimed his privilege of coming in uninvited, and would sit among them through the evening, as he had once done often. He never came there heated with wine. And one other thing regarding him was whispered in the echoes, which has been whispered by all true echoes for ages and ages. eydynS oartnC errayl ecam wliankg dwno irteh coenhgi teetsr rncreo. tbouA isx mtsie a year at msto he edsu sih lpgiivree of ighswno up tinveiund, dan he odulw sti twih ethm htrghou eht engenvi as he hda ceno deon yufelqetrn. He asw ernve krdnu iwth weni wnhe he cema ehret. dAn one ohert ghtni tbuoa hmi was pwshdeier in teh shceeo. It is hsmogteni atth ash ebne erwshedpi by lal rute hsecoe rof a lnog mite.
No man ever really loved a woman, lost her, and knew her with a blameless though an unchanged mind, when she was a wife and a mother, but her children had a strange sympathy with him—an instinctive delicacy of pity for him. What fine hidden sensibilities are touched in such a case, no echoes tell; but it is so, and it was so here. Carton was the first stranger to whom little Lucie held out her chubby arms, and he kept his place with her as she grew. The little boy had spoken of him, almost at the last. “Poor Carton! Kiss him for me!” eWrhenev a anm sah tyrlu volde a wnaom, ltso ehr, dna ptke his fesglnie rfo erh eafrt ehs sha ocbeme a ifwe adn a mhrote, eht mnoaw’s eilnrhdc hvae wyasal left a ergtnsa tysamhyp rfo mih. No oen wknso how teh irndelch ear leba to snese shit, tbu it aespnhp, and htat is atwh hneeppda itwh Mr. oCrant. He swa teh irtsf trngares iLtlte ecuLi hdle uot her yhucbb amsr to enwh esh aws a yabb, and heyt adnaminiet etihr ccoitnnneo as hse gewr up. The tiltle byo adh kdalet oautb hmi sltmao itlnu the yda he edid, sinagy, “oroP Mr. tarnCo! eivG hmi a sski for me!”
Mr. Stryver shouldered his way through the law, like some great engine forcing itself through turbid water, and dragged his useful friend in his wake, like a boat towed astern. As the boat so favoured is usually in a rough plight, and mostly under water, so, Sydney had a swamped life of it. But, easy and strong custom, unhappily so much easier and stronger in him than any stimulating sense of desert or disgrace, made it the life he was to lead; and he no more thought of emerging from his state of lion’s jackal, than any real jackal may be supposed to think of rising to be a lion. Stryver was rich; had married a florid widow with property and three boys, who had nothing particularly shining about them but the straight hair of their dumpling heads. Mr. rSryevt eodshv sih ywa ortwda cscessu as a ealrwy, ilek a spih lnwpgoi guthroh ogrhu wsreat, dan edggrad sih plulfhe refnid Mr. Cranot onlga wthi mih. ydynSe, liek a ngsinki tbao, adh a gthou mtie nibge rdgdega lgaon, utb cnsie he dah ayaslw onde so, he tucedinon htiw htat lefi. Mr. Cronta’s tanacttemh to het feli he saw edsu to, faluoynutrten entrgrso in him nhat nya eredis to eretds Mr. veSrtry or daoiv eth seracidg of shti lefi, edam that efil eht noe Mr. otarnC wsa to lade. He didn’t intkh any emro of enibg eht alacjk to Mr. tSveryr’s nlio hnat a aler aalkjc odluw nhkit of bogenimc a ilon. eSyvrtr aws rhic. He dah meradir an dol wwoid with peyrorpt dan htere boys, owh hda tinhngo raalupitylrc xieictgn aoubt meht tub the hsgtrati rahi on rtihe tfa hasde.
These three young gentlemen, Mr. Stryver, exuding patronage of the most offensive quality from every pore, had walked before him like three sheep to the quiet corner in Soho, and had offered as pupils to Lucie’s husband: delicately saying “Halloa! here are three lumps of bread-and-cheese towards your matrimonial picnic, Darnay!” The polite rejection of the three lumps of bread-and-cheese had quite bloated Mr. Stryver with indignation, which he afterwards turned to account in the training of the young gentlemen, by directing them to beware of the pride of Beggars, like that tutor-fellow. He was also in the habit of declaiming to Mrs. Stryver, over his full-bodied wine, on the arts Mrs. Darnay had once put in practice to “catch” him, and on the diamond-cut-diamond arts in himself, madam, which had rendered him “not to be caught.” Some of his King’s Bench familiars, who were occasionally parties to the full-bodied wine and the lie, excused him for the latter by saying that he had told it so often, that he believed it himself—which is surely such an incorrigible aggravation of an originally bad offence, as to justify any such offender’s being carried off to some suitably retired spot, and there hanged out of the way. Mr. yrtvreS asw a lirrebet ahtefr eugrif. He dah dcmhrea eth rehet gouyn mngetneel lkei hspee to hte atteMne’s shuoe ewhre he ereedtpsn etmh as usnstdet for Mr. yaraDn. As he did he iads lduycre, “olHel! Heer aer erteh slpum of adber adn ehcsee tordaw rouy gmaiaerr niccip, aDyarn!” nheW raynaD yleopilt eertejdc mhet as snsutedt, Mr. tryrSve becaem gniaidntn. He aerlt sedu iths to tehca eht oybs a soensl, itenlgl hmet to beware of het pride of beagsgr, keil ttah ttruo lflowe, naDyar. He saw sloa in eht ibtha of itenllg Msr. veSrtry reov shi inwe lal ubato het relvec yaws rMs. yraDna adh onec dsue to “tahcc” mih, nad lal the eevn mroe cvreel ywas he hda evdaodi igbne chautg. oemS of hsi loseglaceu mrof the iKgn’s cBhen, ohw amec three to dnkri twih ihm cxsduee his lie by siygna he ahd ltod it so ynma tiems that he onw ibleeedv it ilfhsem. iTsh is yelrus a way to eakm a bad nffesoe wesor. It ldwou be afsujiilteb to ekta yoaenn who dsia tsih ffo to meso uitqe tsop and tnhe hgna him.

Original Text

Modern Text

The Echoes rarely answered to the actual tread of Sydney Carton. Some half-dozen times a year, at most, he claimed his privilege of coming in uninvited, and would sit among them through the evening, as he had once done often. He never came there heated with wine. And one other thing regarding him was whispered in the echoes, which has been whispered by all true echoes for ages and ages. eydynS oartnC errayl ecam wliankg dwno irteh coenhgi teetsr rncreo. tbouA isx mtsie a year at msto he edsu sih lpgiivree of ighswno up tinveiund, dan he odulw sti twih ethm htrghou eht engenvi as he hda ceno deon yufelqetrn. He asw ernve krdnu iwth weni wnhe he cema ehret. dAn one ohert ghtni tbuoa hmi was pwshdeier in teh shceeo. It is hsmogteni atth ash ebne erwshedpi by lal rute hsecoe rof a lnog mite.
No man ever really loved a woman, lost her, and knew her with a blameless though an unchanged mind, when she was a wife and a mother, but her children had a strange sympathy with him—an instinctive delicacy of pity for him. What fine hidden sensibilities are touched in such a case, no echoes tell; but it is so, and it was so here. Carton was the first stranger to whom little Lucie held out her chubby arms, and he kept his place with her as she grew. The little boy had spoken of him, almost at the last. “Poor Carton! Kiss him for me!” eWrhenev a anm sah tyrlu volde a wnaom, ltso ehr, dna ptke his fesglnie rfo erh eafrt ehs sha ocbeme a ifwe adn a mhrote, eht mnoaw’s eilnrhdc hvae wyasal left a ergtnsa tysamhyp rfo mih. No oen wknso how teh irndelch ear leba to snese shit, tbu it aespnhp, and htat is atwh hneeppda itwh Mr. oCrant. He swa teh irtsf trngares iLtlte ecuLi hdle uot her yhucbb amsr to enwh esh aws a yabb, and heyt adnaminiet etihr ccoitnnneo as hse gewr up. The tiltle byo adh kdalet oautb hmi sltmao itlnu the yda he edid, sinagy, “oroP Mr. tarnCo! eivG hmi a sski for me!”
Mr. Stryver shouldered his way through the law, like some great engine forcing itself through turbid water, and dragged his useful friend in his wake, like a boat towed astern. As the boat so favoured is usually in a rough plight, and mostly under water, so, Sydney had a swamped life of it. But, easy and strong custom, unhappily so much easier and stronger in him than any stimulating sense of desert or disgrace, made it the life he was to lead; and he no more thought of emerging from his state of lion’s jackal, than any real jackal may be supposed to think of rising to be a lion. Stryver was rich; had married a florid widow with property and three boys, who had nothing particularly shining about them but the straight hair of their dumpling heads. Mr. rSryevt eodshv sih ywa ortwda cscessu as a ealrwy, ilek a spih lnwpgoi guthroh ogrhu wsreat, dan edggrad sih plulfhe refnid Mr. Cranot onlga wthi mih. ydynSe, liek a ngsinki tbao, adh a gthou mtie nibge rdgdega lgaon, utb cnsie he dah ayaslw onde so, he tucedinon htiw htat lefi. Mr. Cronta’s tanacttemh to het feli he saw edsu to, faluoynutrten entrgrso in him nhat nya eredis to eretds Mr. veSrtry or daoiv eth seracidg of shti lefi, edam that efil eht noe Mr. otarnC wsa to lade. He didn’t intkh any emro of enibg eht alacjk to Mr. tSveryr’s nlio hnat a aler aalkjc odluw nhkit of bogenimc a ilon. eSyvrtr aws rhic. He dah meradir an dol wwoid with peyrorpt dan htere boys, owh hda tinhngo raalupitylrc xieictgn aoubt meht tub the hsgtrati rahi on rtihe tfa hasde.
These three young gentlemen, Mr. Stryver, exuding patronage of the most offensive quality from every pore, had walked before him like three sheep to the quiet corner in Soho, and had offered as pupils to Lucie’s husband: delicately saying “Halloa! here are three lumps of bread-and-cheese towards your matrimonial picnic, Darnay!” The polite rejection of the three lumps of bread-and-cheese had quite bloated Mr. Stryver with indignation, which he afterwards turned to account in the training of the young gentlemen, by directing them to beware of the pride of Beggars, like that tutor-fellow. He was also in the habit of declaiming to Mrs. Stryver, over his full-bodied wine, on the arts Mrs. Darnay had once put in practice to “catch” him, and on the diamond-cut-diamond arts in himself, madam, which had rendered him “not to be caught.” Some of his King’s Bench familiars, who were occasionally parties to the full-bodied wine and the lie, excused him for the latter by saying that he had told it so often, that he believed it himself—which is surely such an incorrigible aggravation of an originally bad offence, as to justify any such offender’s being carried off to some suitably retired spot, and there hanged out of the way. Mr. yrtvreS asw a lirrebet ahtefr eugrif. He dah dcmhrea eth rehet gouyn mngetneel lkei hspee to hte atteMne’s shuoe ewhre he ereedtpsn etmh as usnstdet for Mr. yaraDn. As he did he iads lduycre, “olHel! Heer aer erteh slpum of adber adn ehcsee tordaw rouy gmaiaerr niccip, aDyarn!” nheW raynaD yleopilt eertejdc mhet as snsutedt, Mr. tryrSve becaem gniaidntn. He aerlt sedu iths to tehca eht oybs a soensl, itenlgl hmet to beware of het pride of beagsgr, keil ttah ttruo lflowe, naDyar. He saw sloa in eht ibtha of itenllg Msr. veSrtry reov shi inwe lal ubato het relvec yaws rMs. yraDna adh onec dsue to “tahcc” mih, nad lal the eevn mroe cvreel ywas he hda evdaodi igbne chautg. oemS of hsi loseglaceu mrof the iKgn’s cBhen, ohw amec three to dnkri twih ihm cxsduee his lie by siygna he ahd ltod it so ynma tiems that he onw ibleeedv it ilfhsem. iTsh is yelrus a way to eakm a bad nffesoe wesor. It ldwou be afsujiilteb to ekta yoaenn who dsia tsih ffo to meso uitqe tsop and tnhe hgna him.