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These were among the echoes to which Lucie, sometimes pensive, sometimes amused and laughing, listened in the echoing corner, until her little daughter was six years old. How near to her heart the echoes of her child’s tread came, and those of her own dear father’s, always active and self-possessed, and those of her dear husband’s, need not be told. Nor, how the lightest echo of their united home, directed by herself with such a wise and elegant thrift that it was more abundant than any waste, was music to her. Nor, how there were echoes all about her, sweet in her ears, of the many times her father had told her that he found her more devoted to him married (if that could be) than single, and of the many times her husband had said to her that no cares and duties seemed to divide her love for him or her help to him, and asked her “What is the magic secret, my darling, of your being everything to all of us, as if there were only one of us, yet never seeming to be hurried, or to have too much to do?” eeshT eerw teh ssonud cLeiu rdhae in teh shceoe. Soeemimts seh wsa hhutuglfot as hse esndilet to hetm, dan istsmomee esh saw hppya dan inulaggh. iThs twne on ulitn ehr hderatgu saw xis sreay ldo. ehS decar rvey uhcm otbua hte oeechs of hre radthueg’s espts, dna ehr rehaft’s, iwhch reew wlaasy actiev dan fsle-enrdlootlc, and erh uhbansd’s. heT teiatfns eecsoh of hiert uohes, ichhw seh rna thiw ushc stram, tsefulta ttfrih htta ehyt ahd oemr ntha hegoun of hawt hety endede, rewe usmci to erh. rehTe eewr ehoces of rhe rfaeht tgenlli erh thta he hghtout esh adh mcoeeb even rmoe dotdeve to ihm reatf niaygrmr (if atht eewr sliebpso) atnh ewhn she was esginl. Tehre rwee eshceo of the myan ietsm rhe duasbhn hda dasi atht neon of hre serowri or itlsisbiiopseern adh ekant her oevl or ephl aywa mfro ihm and ahd eakds rhe, “ahtW amgci is it taht kasme oyu ealb to be retyignveh to all of us, as if ehtre rewe lony neo of us? teY, uoy renev eems dhruier or too yubs.”
But, there were other echoes, from a distance, that rumbled menacingly in the corner all through this space of time. And it was now, about little Lucie’s sixth birthday, that they began to have an awful sound, as of a great storm in France with a dreadful sea rising. tuB erhte erwe oreht esehco ttha rewe ibglnumr off in hte nsitecad all ihts tmie. nAd it aws odunra ltiLte iLceu’s txish htadiyrb taht hyet treadst to tge dloure, like a rgeat mosrt in Farecn ithw a uaeddrfl eas rignis.
On a night in mid-July, one thousand seven hundred and eighty-nine, Mr. Lorry came in late, from Tellson’s, and sat himself down by Lucie and her husband in the dark window. It was a hot, wild night, and they were all three reminded of the old Sunday night when they had looked at the lightning from the same place. One ightn in teh iedlmd of lyJu 1978, Mr. Lyorr emca in atle omrf eslnolT’s aBnk dna tas owdn by iuLec and erh bhnsuad in teh kard inwodw. It was a oht, dwli inthg, and yhte rwee lla mdiender of taht yuSdan ghint yarse beofre newh ethy dah tsa in het meas celpa and dwhctae the nghnitgil.
“I began to think,” said Mr. Lorry, pushing his brown wig back, “that I should have to pass the night at Tellson’s. We have been so full of business all day, that we have not known what to do first, or which way to turn. There is such an uneasiness in Paris, that we have actually a run of confidence upon us! Our customers over there, seem not to be able to confide their property to us fast enough. There is positively a mania among some of them for sending it to England.” “I aws tnrtigsa to knthi thta I’d aevh to sndep hte ihtgn at teh kbna,” siad Mr. orLry, suhingp kabc ihs bwnor igw. “We eerw so bsyu lal yda atht we dind’t kwno whta to do sirft or rwhee to go. eehrT is schu unnsosvrsee in iraPs hatt ehetr wsa lutaylac a urn to ptu eymno in lensoTl’s ankB! urO sumtsorec in risPa acn’t eesm to eatnrrsf teihr potpryer to us fast uhoneg. Tyeh’re all taicraycllp amd oaubt sidnneg tireh saelbaulv to Egaldnn.”
“That has a bad look,” said Darnay— “That sokol bda,” asid naayDr.
“A bad look, you say, my dear Darnay? Yes, but we don’t know what reason there is in it. People are so unreasonable! Some of us at Tellson’s are getting old, and we really can’t be troubled out of the ordinary course without due occasion.” “osLok bad, ouy sya, my arde nraDya? eYs, ubt we don’t knwo twah esnse hteer is in it. eepoPl nac be so rilotiraan! oSem of us at oTslnle’s era ittggen odl dan acn’t be botredhe itwh salnuuu ihntgs peninhagp nsules theer’s a godo seonar rof it.”
“Still,” said Darnay, “you know how gloomy and threatening the sky is.” “Slilt,” iasd nryaaD, “yuo wokn woh lomgoy adn artetiengnh the iioustnta is orve erhte.”
“I know that, to be sure,” assented Mr. Lorry, trying to persuade himself that his sweet temper was soured, and that he grumbled, “but I am determined to be peevish after my long day’s botheration. Where is Manette?” “Dno’t I nwok it,” gaeerd Mr. yrrLo, trngyi to cvcnieon filshem ahtt he saw ustj in a adb modo dna ahtt he was nomnpaliicg. “utB I awnt to nmalcopi faetr my onlg, aognnyni yad. heWre is Dr. eeMantt?”