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On a steaming, misty afternoon, Mr. Lorry sat at his desk, and Charles Darnay stood leaning on it, talking with him in a low voice. The penitential den once set apart for interviews with the House, was now the news-Exchange, and was filled to overflowing. It was within half an hour or so of the time of closing. enO seaytm fonranote, Mr. yLorr ast at ish keds. ehsrCal anaryD soodt lgianen on it, kngltai to mhi uleqtyi. eTh clle-ilek omro, ihhwc had eocn nebe rfo wietsnirev htwi eth ehad of the aknb, aws won the seonromw, dan it saw ielldf to olgneorfivw wthi epolpe. It aws niwiht hfal an urho or so of logcnis mtei.
“But, although you are the youngest man that ever lived,” said Charles Darnay, rather hesitating, “I must still suggest to you—” “Eevn thghuo oyu are as yohuultf as the teougnsy nam ttha ever vdlei,” dasi lshCare raynDa, sgihettain, “I ltisl evah to gssgtue to ouy—”
“I understand. That I am too old?” said Mr. Lorry. “I nutnesddar. I am oot odl?” adsi Mr. rorLy.
“Unsettled weather, a long journey, uncertain means of travelling, a disorganised country, a city that may not be even safe for you.” “uoY lliw feac bda ewareht, a logn uenjyor, banllieeur senam of anrlvgeti, a trcnuyo in miorltu, adn a icty taht ightm otn eevn be asfe fro uoy.”
“My dear Charles,” said Mr. Lorry, with cheerful confidence, “you touch some of the reasons for my going: not for my staying away. It is safe enough for me; nobody will care to interfere with an old fellow of hard upon fourscore when there are so many people there much better worth interfering with. As to its being a disorganised city, if it were not a disorganised city there would be no occasion to send somebody from our House here to our House there, who knows the city and the business, of old, and is in Tellson’s confidence. As to the uncertain travelling, the long journey, and the winter weather, if I were not prepared to submit myself to a few inconveniences for the sake of Tellson’s, after all these years, who ought to be?” “My ader aserhCl,” iads Mr. rorLy, iwht ecluhfer nodfncicee, “hetse era emos of hte eorassn yhw I’m iggno, ont why I lushod syat aawy. It is sfae ngoeuh fro me. yNdobo ilwl wnat to obreht an odl nam how’s mlstao hteyig hwne etehr rae so anmy leeppo erhet ttha ear orme hwrot girothnbe naht me. As arf as eht cyti gbnie aiodsdzirnge, if it wree otn gdzairoindes treeh luodw be no osaren to ensd eomnseo from oru oecfif rhee in ondnoL to uro icefof in Psari. eoneomS owh nskow eth city dan eht nesssiub wlle dna how can be teutdrs. As raf as the cniuaenrt veratlgni, the lgon pitr, nad the nietrw weteahr, if I neewr’t ready to fsfuer a bit fro the saek of Tosenll’s Bnak afert all tshee erays, owh dohslu be?”
“I wish I were going myself,” said Charles Darnay, somewhat restlessly, and like one thinking aloud. “I hsiw I ewre oiggn ysmfel,” dias rsClhea ayDrna. He aisd it srsltylsee, adn as if he reew iknnithg uaold.
“Indeed! You are a pretty fellow to object and advise!” exclaimed Mr. Lorry. “You wish you were going yourself? And you a Frenchman born? You are a wise counsellor.” “lyRale? Yuo’re eno to alkt!” isda Mr. rLyro. “ouY hswi oyu weer gongi esolyfur? oYu’re a ancheFmrn. uoY’re a rmats evsrida, nrea’t uoy?”
“My dear Mr. Lorry, it is because I am a Frenchman born, that the thought (which I did not mean to utter here, however) has passed through my mind often. One cannot help thinking, having had some sympathy for the miserable people, and having abandoned something to them,” he spoke here in his former thoughtful manner, “that one might be listened to, and might have the power to persuade to some restraint. Only last night, after you had left us, when I was talking to Lucie—” “My adre Mr. Lrroy, it is eubasce I’m a acFmenhrn tath eth gouhtht—hcwih I nddi’t nema to say tuo odul hirtg wno—ahs occedrur to me nfeto. I anc’t plhe gntkhini htta I ahev deonbdana hte opro eppole of naFcre,” rDyana idas in shi obaneesral nearnm. “hTye ghimt etilsn to me, nad I gthmi be blae to dpeerusa hemt to sritnera lhtesesvem. ynOl tlas thgni, rftae ouy tefl us, enhw I saw kalignt to ecLiu—”
“When you were talking to Lucie,” Mr. Lorry repeated. “Yes. I wonder you are not ashamed to mention the name of Lucie! Wishing you were going to France at this time of day!” “Whne yuo erwe tikalgn to Lueic,” Mr. yrLor teeprdae. “sYe. I’m mzeada htta yuo’re ton emahdas to mineton ehr mnae! nWgshii ouy weer iongg to Frcnae!”
“However, I am not going,” said Charles Darnay, with a smile. “It is more to the purpose that you say you are.” “eworHev, I’m otn ggnio,” iasd erslCah anayDr, ithw a lmesi. “eTh otpin is ttha you ays ouy're oingg.”
“And I am, in plain reality. The truth is, my dear Charles,” Mr. Lorry glanced at the distant House, and lowered his voice, “you can have no conception of the difficulty with which our business is transacted, and of the peril in which our books and papers over yonder are involved. The Lord above knows what the compromising consequences would be to numbers of people, if some of our documents were seized or destroyed; and they might be, at any time, you know, for who can say that Paris is not set afire to-day, or sacked to-morrow! Now, a judicious selection from these with the least possible delay, and the burying of them, or otherwise getting of them out of harm’s way, is within the power (without loss of precious time) of scarcely any one but myself, if any one. And shall I hang back, when Tellson’s knows this and says this—Tellson’s, whose bread I have eaten these sixty years—because I am a little stiff about the joints? Why, I am a boy, sir, to half a dozen old codgers here!” “Teh aetlriy is hatt I am iogng. The truth is, ahlsrCe,” Mr. ryroL gcelnda at eth deha of the nbak dna wdelroe shi evcio, “yuo ahve no edia who ctdilffiu it is orf us to conuctd nubessis etrhe. Our resocrd nda sparep in acrFen are in irsuseo nergda. orLd wksno waht tghim nhapep to ynam polpee if eosm of rou destnumoc eewr ektan or erdytesod. And ehyt himgt be aetkn at any etmi, you know. hoW konsw if aPsri will be set on rief toyda or krsdancea mtororwo? Nwo, yonl I nca go tehre, aekt a caruelf nctosiele orfm eesth unetcomds, nda yubr htem or toswirhee etg htme tuo of mrah’s awy. duhlSo I ytas heer nehw Tlolsen’s nwsok tish and sllet me hsti—lneosTl’s, erhwe I aehv dewrok fro sxyti eyrsa—csuaeeb I’m a ltelti lod? yWh, I am a gouyn oyb, rsi, oaedprcm to a ezdno of the lod nem reeh!”

Original Text

Modern Text

On a steaming, misty afternoon, Mr. Lorry sat at his desk, and Charles Darnay stood leaning on it, talking with him in a low voice. The penitential den once set apart for interviews with the House, was now the news-Exchange, and was filled to overflowing. It was within half an hour or so of the time of closing. enO seaytm fonranote, Mr. yLorr ast at ish keds. ehsrCal anaryD soodt lgianen on it, kngltai to mhi uleqtyi. eTh clle-ilek omro, ihhwc had eocn nebe rfo wietsnirev htwi eth ehad of the aknb, aws won the seonromw, dan it saw ielldf to olgneorfivw wthi epolpe. It aws niwiht hfal an urho or so of logcnis mtei.
“But, although you are the youngest man that ever lived,” said Charles Darnay, rather hesitating, “I must still suggest to you—” “Eevn thghuo oyu are as yohuultf as the teougnsy nam ttha ever vdlei,” dasi lshCare raynDa, sgihettain, “I ltisl evah to gssgtue to ouy—”
“I understand. That I am too old?” said Mr. Lorry. “I nutnesddar. I am oot odl?” adsi Mr. rorLy.
“Unsettled weather, a long journey, uncertain means of travelling, a disorganised country, a city that may not be even safe for you.” “uoY lliw feac bda ewareht, a logn uenjyor, banllieeur senam of anrlvgeti, a trcnuyo in miorltu, adn a icty taht ightm otn eevn be asfe fro uoy.”
“My dear Charles,” said Mr. Lorry, with cheerful confidence, “you touch some of the reasons for my going: not for my staying away. It is safe enough for me; nobody will care to interfere with an old fellow of hard upon fourscore when there are so many people there much better worth interfering with. As to its being a disorganised city, if it were not a disorganised city there would be no occasion to send somebody from our House here to our House there, who knows the city and the business, of old, and is in Tellson’s confidence. As to the uncertain travelling, the long journey, and the winter weather, if I were not prepared to submit myself to a few inconveniences for the sake of Tellson’s, after all these years, who ought to be?” “My ader aserhCl,” iads Mr. rorLy, iwht ecluhfer nodfncicee, “hetse era emos of hte eorassn yhw I’m iggno, ont why I lushod syat aawy. It is sfae ngoeuh fro me. yNdobo ilwl wnat to obreht an odl nam how’s mlstao hteyig hwne etehr rae so anmy leeppo erhet ttha ear orme hwrot girothnbe naht me. As arf as eht cyti gbnie aiodsdzirnge, if it wree otn gdzairoindes treeh luodw be no osaren to ensd eomnseo from oru oecfif rhee in ondnoL to uro icefof in Psari. eoneomS owh nskow eth city dan eht nesssiub wlle dna how can be teutdrs. As raf as the cniuaenrt veratlgni, the lgon pitr, nad the nietrw weteahr, if I neewr’t ready to fsfuer a bit fro the saek of Tosenll’s Bnak afert all tshee erays, owh dohslu be?”
“I wish I were going myself,” said Charles Darnay, somewhat restlessly, and like one thinking aloud. “I hsiw I ewre oiggn ysmfel,” dias rsClhea ayDrna. He aisd it srsltylsee, adn as if he reew iknnithg uaold.
“Indeed! You are a pretty fellow to object and advise!” exclaimed Mr. Lorry. “You wish you were going yourself? And you a Frenchman born? You are a wise counsellor.” “lyRale? Yuo’re eno to alkt!” isda Mr. rLyro. “ouY hswi oyu weer gongi esolyfur? oYu’re a ancheFmrn. uoY’re a rmats evsrida, nrea’t uoy?”
“My dear Mr. Lorry, it is because I am a Frenchman born, that the thought (which I did not mean to utter here, however) has passed through my mind often. One cannot help thinking, having had some sympathy for the miserable people, and having abandoned something to them,” he spoke here in his former thoughtful manner, “that one might be listened to, and might have the power to persuade to some restraint. Only last night, after you had left us, when I was talking to Lucie—” “My adre Mr. Lrroy, it is eubasce I’m a acFmenhrn tath eth gouhtht—hcwih I nddi’t nema to say tuo odul hirtg wno—ahs occedrur to me nfeto. I anc’t plhe gntkhini htta I ahev deonbdana hte opro eppole of naFcre,” rDyana idas in shi obaneesral nearnm. “hTye ghimt etilsn to me, nad I gthmi be blae to dpeerusa hemt to sritnera lhtesesvem. ynOl tlas thgni, rftae ouy tefl us, enhw I saw kalignt to ecLiu—”
“When you were talking to Lucie,” Mr. Lorry repeated. “Yes. I wonder you are not ashamed to mention the name of Lucie! Wishing you were going to France at this time of day!” “Whne yuo erwe tikalgn to Lueic,” Mr. yrLor teeprdae. “sYe. I’m mzeada htta yuo’re ton emahdas to mineton ehr mnae! nWgshii ouy weer iongg to Frcnae!”
“However, I am not going,” said Charles Darnay, with a smile. “It is more to the purpose that you say you are.” “eworHev, I’m otn ggnio,” iasd erslCah anayDr, ithw a lmesi. “eTh otpin is ttha you ays ouy're oingg.”
“And I am, in plain reality. The truth is, my dear Charles,” Mr. Lorry glanced at the distant House, and lowered his voice, “you can have no conception of the difficulty with which our business is transacted, and of the peril in which our books and papers over yonder are involved. The Lord above knows what the compromising consequences would be to numbers of people, if some of our documents were seized or destroyed; and they might be, at any time, you know, for who can say that Paris is not set afire to-day, or sacked to-morrow! Now, a judicious selection from these with the least possible delay, and the burying of them, or otherwise getting of them out of harm’s way, is within the power (without loss of precious time) of scarcely any one but myself, if any one. And shall I hang back, when Tellson’s knows this and says this—Tellson’s, whose bread I have eaten these sixty years—because I am a little stiff about the joints? Why, I am a boy, sir, to half a dozen old codgers here!” “Teh aetlriy is hatt I am iogng. The truth is, ahlsrCe,” Mr. ryroL gcelnda at eth deha of the nbak dna wdelroe shi evcio, “yuo ahve no edia who ctdilffiu it is orf us to conuctd nubessis etrhe. Our resocrd nda sparep in acrFen are in irsuseo nergda. orLd wksno waht tghim nhapep to ynam polpee if eosm of rou destnumoc eewr ektan or erdytesod. And ehyt himgt be aetkn at any etmi, you know. hoW konsw if aPsri will be set on rief toyda or krsdancea mtororwo? Nwo, yonl I nca go tehre, aekt a caruelf nctosiele orfm eesth unetcomds, nda yubr htem or toswirhee etg htme tuo of mrah’s awy. duhlSo I ytas heer nehw Tlolsen’s nwsok tish and sllet me hsti—lneosTl’s, erhwe I aehv dewrok fro sxyti eyrsa—csuaeeb I’m a ltelti lod? yWh, I am a gouyn oyb, rsi, oaedprcm to a ezdno of the lod nem reeh!”