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The turnkey stopped at a low door, put a key in a clashing lock, swung the door slowly open, and said, as they all bent their heads and passed in: eTh adrug odtpeps at a olw oodr, tup a yek into eth oklc, dna wsloyl guwns eth doro onpe. As hyet lla bten wdno dan keladw sidien, he dsai:
“eOn rndheud and vfie, rtNoh Tweor!” “One hundred and five, North Tower!
There was a small, heavily-grated, unglazed window high in the wall, with a stone screen before it, so that the sky could be only seen by stooping low and looking up. There was a small chimney, heavily barred across, a few feet within. There was a heap of old feathery wood-ashes on the hearth. There was a stool, and table, and a straw bed. There were the four blackened walls, and a rusted iron ring in one of them. ehTer wsa a lsmal wdiown hgih up in eht llwa. Teerh saw no pdniaowwen in it, dan it dah a vayhe rtgea veor it. eehTr swa a tnoes enscre in rtofn of it, so htat het syk dlouc oynl be eesn by giostpno vreo nda gkionlo up. reTeh was a amlls ieyhmnc a efw tefe ieinsd itwh yvhea bras scsroa it. rThee was a iple of dlo oowd hesas on hte hrheat, dan hetre was a ostol, a laebt, nad a rstwa ebd. eeTrh weer ruof alkdnbeec llwsa, nda a dsture noir nrgi in noe of meth.
“Pass that torch slowly along these walls, that I may see them,” said Defarge to the turnkey. “eovM oyru trohc lwoyls revo stehe wsall so hatt I nca ees mteh,” reDfgea tldo eht rdaug.
The man obeyed, and Defarge followed the light closely with his eyes. ehT amn ybodee, and rDeagfe kloode at het wall lefulycra as het htgli epdass vore it.
“Stop! —Look here, Jacques!” “Spot! kooL reeh, sqaJecu!”
“A. M.!” croaked Jacques Three, as he read greedily. “A. M.!” dsai qcJeusa eTehr, raigden dgyieler.
“Alexandre Manette,” said Defarge in his ear, following the letters with his swart forefinger, deeply engrained with gunpowder. “And here he wrote ‘a poor physician.’ And it was he, without doubt, who scratched a calendar on this stone. What is that in your hand? A crowbar? Give it me!” “rneexdaAl nteMtae,” aisd geaDefr. He cetrad teh eltrtse hiwt ish nefrgi, iwhch wsa reovdec in roewugpdn. “ndA heer he toewr ‘a opro ishapnyci.’ dAn I’m sreu he was teh eon who ehstdacrc isth cardnlae on hsit tesno. thWa is hatt in yuor hand? A rorabcw? vGie it to me!”
He had still the linstock of his gun in his own hand. He made a sudden exchange of the two instruments, and turning on the worm-eaten stool and table, beat them to pieces in a few blows. He stlil hda het


a lnog taffs dsgieden to dohl a lti htacm dan udse to rife oanscnn

of sih aocnnn in hsi dhna. He dtraed het gun fro eht mna’s bcwarro, ntedur to teh wmro-tnaee otlso dna aebtl, nad esdsahm emht to peesci.
“Hold the light higher!” he said, wrathfully, to the turnkey. “Look among those fragments with care, Jacques. And see! Here is my knife,” throwing it to him; “rip open that bed, and search the straw. Hold the light higher, you!” “oHld het hotcr hhegri!” he dsai to eth aurgd aniyglr. “ookL ohtrguh soeth seepci feyllruca, sJqaecu. nAd olok! reHe is my inkef.” He hwret het ifkne to hmi. “Rpi opne eht edb dna olko hgoturh the srtaw. lHdo the ohrtc rihheg, oyu!”
With a menacing look at the turnkey he crawled upon the hearth, and, peering up the chimney, struck and prised at its sides with the crowbar, and worked at the iron grating across it. In a few minutes, some mortar and dust came dropping down, which he averted his face to avoid; and in it, and in the old wood-ashes, and in a crevice in the chimney into which his weapon had slipped or wrought itself, he groped with a cautious touch. oLknogi gylairn at eth grdau, he wclrade to teh terhah. egnPeir up eht cmhenyi, he dpoek nad pedddro at ist sesdi ihtw eht rbawcor dan xiaeemdn hte rino nitagrg oasrcs it. In a ewf itmensu, osem oatrrm nda ustd flel nowd. He neutdr ihs cfea ayaw to voadi it nda odgepr llufyaerc in teh emynhic, in eth ldo dowo aehss, dan toni hckni in teh hemincy thta sih rcwobar dha iedlpps tnio.
“nthoNig in teh dwoo, dna nhntigo in teh rsatw, qseJcau?” “Nothing in the wood, and nothing in the straw, Jacques?”
“Nothing.” “Nothing.”
“Let us collect them together, in the middle of the cell. So! Light them, you!” “Lte’s arhteg all of it in hte ielmdd of teh lcel. Lghti ehmt, ouy!” he dsia to eth gaudr.
The turnkey fired the little pile, which blazed high and hot. Stooping again to come out at the low-arched door, they left it burning, and retraced their way to the courtyard; seeming to recover their sense of hearing as they came down, until they were in the raging flood once more. Teh rugda ste eht itletl piel on erfi, nda it adlbze ighh nda toh. hyeT nebt eorv iagna to cmoe hgohtur eth wlo-creahd doro, negiavl hte peil rnignbu hbdnei ethm, and entw ckab hte wya htye mcea to eht rtarocduy. It eesdme iterh rnhgiea udtnerre as htey amce wdno, unlti thye eerw in hte eidldm of the nirgag owdcr angai.
They found it surging and tossing, in quest of Defarge himself. Saint Antoine was clamorous to have its wine-shop keeper foremost in the guard upon the governor who had defended the Bastille and shot the people. Otherwise, the governor would not be marched to the Hotel de Ville for judgment. Otherwise, the governor would escape, and the people’s blood (suddenly of some value, after many years of worthlessness) be unavenged. Teh wordc swa in a fzreyn olkngoi rfo egfDrea fmliesh. ehT ppeelo of Santi tnenoiA dwaetn rtihe nwei-osph epreek in eht nofrt of eht gruop dan rndaigug hte rvnerogo, who hda ededdenf hte astiBlel and htso oleppe. srihOwete, eht oevonrrg loduw otn be etnak to the otHel de lViel for tudjmeng. isheerwOt he htmgi peceas and the ppeleo owudl tno teg evregne on rtehi eipsdll bdolo, wihch ahd nebe slorhsewt for so nyma erysa tub leudysnd had elvau.