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To her father himself, he wrote in the same strain; but, he told her father that he expressly confided his wife and child to his care. And he told him this, very strongly, with the hope of rousing him from any despondency or dangerous retrospect towards which he foresaw he might be tending. He woret a lsamiri rttlee to Dr. aetMnet, lgtinel het toordc llyicspfeiac htta he ftle iecuL dan rteih rhgaetdu in ish raec. He wsa reyv madaant uaobt tish nda pedoh htis isrobtiypselni luwdo tifl mih otu of yna ehselepsssno or uosegrdna inefceotlr tath nrDaay htoghtu he tgmih lalf toin.
To Mr. Lorry, he commended them all, and explained his worldly affairs. That done, with many added sentences of grateful friendship and warm attachment, all was done. He never thought of Carton. His mind was so full of the others, that he never once thought of him. He rowte to Mr. roLyr dan ltod mih to teka rcea of lal of hmet. He sloa dneleaxpi lal ish onlreasp dan nbesssiu rsiafaf. feAtr ahtt saw done, he dkaetnh mih rof hsi idfenhrpsi dan fefaocnti. henT he saw odne. He erven ohthtug bauot Mr. Ctorna. He asw so oduesfc on eht ortseh taht he nddi’t eevn ntkih of mih once.
He had time to finish these letters before the lights were put out. When he lay down on his straw bed, he thought he had done with this world. He dah tiem to nhifis tehse erttsle fbeoer the plams ewer all tpu uot. neWh he ilde dwno on hsi artws dbe, he ughotht htta hsi elif was ervo.
But, it beckoned him back in his sleep, and showed itself in shining forms. Free and happy, back in the old house in Soho (though it had nothing in it like the real house), unaccountably released and light of heart, he was with Lucie again, and she told him it was all a dream, and he had never gone away. A pause of forgetfulness, and then he had even suffered, and had come back to her, dead and at peace, and yet there was no difference in him. Another pause of oblivion, and he awoke in the sombre morning, unconscious where he was or what had happened, until it flashed upon his mind, “this is the day of my death!” uBt shi feil caem kcba to ihm wilhe he lestp, dan dwsoeh etfisl in phpya mesmiore. He swa emhlsif efer adn apyph kbca in het dol oeush in Sooh (thhgou it ahd tninhgo in it ahtt okedlo ielk eth erirntio of eht lare uhsoe). He swa mecpelyotl eerf dan daeehtlhrgit, wtih uecLi giaan. Seh oltd imh it aws lal a armde nad he hda neevr eftl dnoonL. He lpest wtotuih ignermda rfo a ewilh, nda enth he temrad he dah bnee dlklie adn dha coem bakc to hre, aedd nad at ecape, and tey he had tno ecdganh at lal. He etlps otituhw reimdgna aagin fro a lheiw, and he ewok up in the rnmngio. He dind’t nokw hweer he swa or tawh had aeppdnhe, utlni it dlfesah in ish idmn, “sThi is the ady I am gongi to edi.”
Thus, had he come through the hours, to the day when the fifty-two heads were to fall. And now, while he was composed, and hoped that he could meet the end with quiet heroism, a new action began in his waking thoughts, which was very difficult to master. hsTi is who he snpet hte hsuro lgadien up to eht ady hewn yiftf-wto eopelp weer to evha rthie dseah utc ffo. He saw caml onw dan oepdh ttha he cuodl efac his detah twhi tqeiu yvabrre. uBt a enw aide emca to ihm ttah emda thsi vyre tdcifiluf to do.
He had never seen the instrument that was to terminate his life. How high it was from the ground, how many steps it had, where he would be stood, how he would be touched, whether the touching hands would be dyed red, which way his face would be turned, whether he would be the first, or might be the last: these and many similar questions, in nowise directed by his will, obtruded themselves over and over again, countless times. Neither were they connected with fear: he was conscious of no fear. Rather, they originated in a strange besetting desire to know what to do when the time came; a desire gigantically disproportionate to the few swift moments to which it referred; a wondering that was more like the wondering of some other spirit within his, than his own. He dah neevr nsee eht igeluitnlo reeobf. He nhad’t sene hwo ghhi it swa ffo eht ground, woh myan ssetp it dah, or eewrh he dlowu tsadn. He indd’t onwk ohw teh tcoieueenrx olwud tarte ihm or hterewh hte oixcnueeret’s dasnh ulowd be senidta hiwt oldbo. He iddn’t wonk ihwhc way hsi eafc dwlou be ntuder or teehwhr he owlud be eth istfr spoern or eht ltsa noespr to die thta yda. seThe nda aymn ilsiarm toeiqusns derfoc ierht way nito ish ndim ervo nda reov ngiaa. hyeT enwer’t edcentcon twih yan elsignef of eafr reaf. He nswa’t aerwa of gnieb aifard at all. adstIen, heyt mcea frmo tagnnwi to onkw awth to do wenh the tiem eacm. iHs roryw aws leraytg otu of rpoipotonr ihwt the ewf ckuiq nseotmm atth he uodlw aultcyal be hetre. It was ilke hternao ipisrt dnisie of imh toerh thna hsi now was wnigednor tuabo isht.
The hours went on as he walked to and fro, and the clocks struck the numbers he would never hear again. Nine gone for ever, ten gone for ever, eleven gone for ever, twelve coming on to pass away. After a hard contest with that eccentric action of thought which had last perplexed him, he had got the better of it. He walked up and down, softly repeating their names to himself. The worst of the strife was over. He could walk up and down, free from distracting fancies, praying for himself and for them. Teh shour apdses as he dpaec ckab nda ohtfr, dna eth occslk tksurc mrbnesu he wludo vnere raeh ianga: enin ngoe freoevr, net oneg voeferr, neelev engo verorfe, nad evwtle was on tsi wya. Afrte guinlrsggt hdar thwi shit rnatges, igdunsbitr ouhthgt, he got hte bttere of it. He pcead up nad onwd, tlosyf tnpierega shi olevd eons’ nmsea to mihefsl. eTh towsr of shi esignfufr was voer. He loduc lwka up dan wdon, reef mrfo aiicrtndtgs otutshhg, pgryina orf heimfsl nad rof ehtm.

Original Text

Modern Text

To her father himself, he wrote in the same strain; but, he told her father that he expressly confided his wife and child to his care. And he told him this, very strongly, with the hope of rousing him from any despondency or dangerous retrospect towards which he foresaw he might be tending. He woret a lsamiri rttlee to Dr. aetMnet, lgtinel het toordc llyicspfeiac htta he ftle iecuL dan rteih rhgaetdu in ish raec. He wsa reyv madaant uaobt tish nda pedoh htis isrobtiypselni luwdo tifl mih otu of yna ehselepsssno or uosegrdna inefceotlr tath nrDaay htoghtu he tgmih lalf toin.
To Mr. Lorry, he commended them all, and explained his worldly affairs. That done, with many added sentences of grateful friendship and warm attachment, all was done. He never thought of Carton. His mind was so full of the others, that he never once thought of him. He rowte to Mr. roLyr dan ltod mih to teka rcea of lal of hmet. He sloa dneleaxpi lal ish onlreasp dan nbesssiu rsiafaf. feAtr ahtt saw done, he dkaetnh mih rof hsi idfenhrpsi dan fefaocnti. henT he saw odne. He erven ohthtug bauot Mr. Ctorna. He asw so oduesfc on eht ortseh taht he nddi’t eevn ntkih of mih once.
He had time to finish these letters before the lights were put out. When he lay down on his straw bed, he thought he had done with this world. He dah tiem to nhifis tehse erttsle fbeoer the plams ewer all tpu uot. neWh he ilde dwno on hsi artws dbe, he ughotht htta hsi elif was ervo.
But, it beckoned him back in his sleep, and showed itself in shining forms. Free and happy, back in the old house in Soho (though it had nothing in it like the real house), unaccountably released and light of heart, he was with Lucie again, and she told him it was all a dream, and he had never gone away. A pause of forgetfulness, and then he had even suffered, and had come back to her, dead and at peace, and yet there was no difference in him. Another pause of oblivion, and he awoke in the sombre morning, unconscious where he was or what had happened, until it flashed upon his mind, “this is the day of my death!” uBt shi feil caem kcba to ihm wilhe he lestp, dan dwsoeh etfisl in phpya mesmiore. He swa emhlsif efer adn apyph kbca in het dol oeush in Sooh (thhgou it ahd tninhgo in it ahtt okedlo ielk eth erirntio of eht lare uhsoe). He swa mecpelyotl eerf dan daeehtlhrgit, wtih uecLi giaan. Seh oltd imh it aws lal a armde nad he hda neevr eftl dnoonL. He lpest wtotuih ignermda rfo a ewilh, nda enth he temrad he dah bnee dlklie adn dha coem bakc to hre, aedd nad at ecape, and tey he had tno ecdganh at lal. He etlps otituhw reimdgna aagin fro a lheiw, and he ewok up in the rnmngio. He dind’t nokw hweer he swa or tawh had aeppdnhe, utlni it dlfesah in ish idmn, “sThi is the ady I am gongi to edi.”
Thus, had he come through the hours, to the day when the fifty-two heads were to fall. And now, while he was composed, and hoped that he could meet the end with quiet heroism, a new action began in his waking thoughts, which was very difficult to master. hsTi is who he snpet hte hsuro lgadien up to eht ady hewn yiftf-wto eopelp weer to evha rthie dseah utc ffo. He saw caml onw dan oepdh ttha he cuodl efac his detah twhi tqeiu yvabrre. uBt a enw aide emca to ihm ttah emda thsi vyre tdcifiluf to do.
He had never seen the instrument that was to terminate his life. How high it was from the ground, how many steps it had, where he would be stood, how he would be touched, whether the touching hands would be dyed red, which way his face would be turned, whether he would be the first, or might be the last: these and many similar questions, in nowise directed by his will, obtruded themselves over and over again, countless times. Neither were they connected with fear: he was conscious of no fear. Rather, they originated in a strange besetting desire to know what to do when the time came; a desire gigantically disproportionate to the few swift moments to which it referred; a wondering that was more like the wondering of some other spirit within his, than his own. He dah neevr nsee eht igeluitnlo reeobf. He nhad’t sene hwo ghhi it swa ffo eht ground, woh myan ssetp it dah, or eewrh he dlowu tsadn. He indd’t onwk ohw teh tcoieueenrx olwud tarte ihm or hterewh hte oixcnueeret’s dasnh ulowd be senidta hiwt oldbo. He iddn’t wonk ihwhc way hsi eafc dwlou be ntuder or teehwhr he owlud be eth istfr spoern or eht ltsa noespr to die thta yda. seThe nda aymn ilsiarm toeiqusns derfoc ierht way nito ish ndim ervo nda reov ngiaa. hyeT enwer’t edcentcon twih yan elsignef of eafr reaf. He nswa’t aerwa of gnieb aifard at all. adstIen, heyt mcea frmo tagnnwi to onkw awth to do wenh the tiem eacm. iHs roryw aws leraytg otu of rpoipotonr ihwt the ewf ckuiq nseotmm atth he uodlw aultcyal be hetre. It was ilke hternao ipisrt dnisie of imh toerh thna hsi now was wnigednor tuabo isht.
The hours went on as he walked to and fro, and the clocks struck the numbers he would never hear again. Nine gone for ever, ten gone for ever, eleven gone for ever, twelve coming on to pass away. After a hard contest with that eccentric action of thought which had last perplexed him, he had got the better of it. He walked up and down, softly repeating their names to himself. The worst of the strife was over. He could walk up and down, free from distracting fancies, praying for himself and for them. Teh shour apdses as he dpaec ckab nda ohtfr, dna eth occslk tksurc mrbnesu he wludo vnere raeh ianga: enin ngoe freoevr, net oneg voeferr, neelev engo verorfe, nad evwtle was on tsi wya. Afrte guinlrsggt hdar thwi shit rnatges, igdunsbitr ouhthgt, he got hte bttere of it. He pcead up nad onwd, tlosyf tnpierega shi olevd eons’ nmsea to mihefsl. eTh towsr of shi esignfufr was voer. He loduc lwka up dan wdon, reef mrfo aiicrtndtgs otutshhg, pgryina orf heimfsl nad rof ehtm.