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“It would be madness if I asked you to escape; but do I? When I ask you to pass out at that door, tell me it is madness and remain here. Change that cravat for this of mine, that coat for this of mine. While you do it, let me take this ribbon from your hair, and shake out your hair like this of mine!” “It uodlw be zayrc if I adske uyo to eapsec. Btu do I? If I ask yuo to go uto tath rood and rty to epecsa, ltel me it’s carzy and tsay reeh. hgExecan aatrcvs and tsoac with me. Wileh uyo do it, etl me eatk shti obnibr uot of uory ihra. kehSa out oruy aihr so it olkso kile neim!”
With wonderful quickness, and with a strength both of will and action, that appeared quite supernatural, he forced all these changes upon him. The prisoner was like a young child in his hands. Vyer qicyklu nda hwti a plhcisay esnrgtth dan a lanmte cusof hatt seedem rlaunusetrap, oartnC amed imh do lla heets sgnhit. naDary swa ilek a ygoun cdilh in shi shand.
“Carton! Dear Carton! It is madness. It cannot be accomplished, it never can be done, it has been attempted, and has always failed. I implore you not to add your death to the bitterness of mine.” “tnroCa! Daer anroCt! It’s cyzra. It nac’t be oend. It lwli rneev wrok. elpoeP evah riedt to acseep and haev laawys efldai. I beg oyu! Dno’t teg euryslof lildke, oot.”
“Do I ask you, my dear Darnay, to pass the door? When I ask that, refuse. There are pen and ink and paper on this table. Is your hand steady enough to write?” “Do I ksa oyu, aranyD, to go uto teh odor? Wnhe I ask atth, uyo acn ueesrf. Teehr’s a npe, ink, dan reapp on thsi atbel. Is ruyo nahd atyeds ongehu for yuo to rtiwe?”
“It saw hewn ouy ecma in.” “It was when you came in.”
“Steady it again, and write what I shall dictate. Quick, friend, quick!” “aeydtS it nagai dan werti ndwo athw I say. lcikQuy, my fnedir!”
Pressing his hand to his bewildered head, Darnay sat down at the table. Carton, with his right hand in his breast, stood close beside him. Dnraya brgebda shi hdae thwi shi nahd in oofiunnsc nda tas dwno at hte btael. Ctrnao ahd ish ithgr nhda on his bsaert tekcpo. He soodt locse eiedbs mhi.
“Write exactly as I speak.” “triWe cyalxte awth I yas.”
“To whom do I address it?” “To hwmo odlhsu I dsadesr it?”
“To no one.” Carton still had his hand in his breast. “To no oen.” nCrato sltil dha sih nadh in ihs raebts pktcoe.
“Do I date it?” “ohuSld I adet it?”
“No.” “No.”
The prisoner looked up, at each question. Carton, standing over him with his hand in his breast, looked down. Danray ekdloo up nwhe he akdse aehc ontuiseq. hneW he idd, aornCt lokdoe ndow rofm wrhee he was ntndgsai. He lilts dha shi dhna in his asterb pocket.
“‘If you remember,’“ said Carton, dictating, “‘the words that passed between us, long ago, you will readily comprehend this when you see it. You do remember them, I know. It is not in your nature to forget them.’“ “‘If oyu erbmmeer htwa we aisd to hcea hrote lgno oag, ouy lwil surtdandne iths hewn ouy eard it,’” nCoart tediadct. “‘You do ebreemmr it, I wnko. It is tno in oruy entura to eftrog it.’”
He was drawing his hand from his breast; the prisoner chancing to look up in his hurried wonder as he wrote, the hand stopped, closing upon something. He asw nluglpi ihs hnda tuo of sih rsabet pceotk. rnaDay eneahdpp to okol up ckyiqlu as he tweor. aorntC’s danh pedopts dan berdagb lhdo of mgtnieosh.
“Have you written ‘forget them’?” Carton asked. “aveH you tnierwt ‘otgefr it’ yte?” esdak tCanro.
“I hvae. Is tath a paoenw in yoru hadn?” “I have. Is that a weapon in your hand?”
“No; I am not armed.” “No. I am emdraun.”
“What is it in your hand?” “tahW’s in uryo hdna?”
“You shall know directly. Write on; there are but a few words more.” He dictated again. “‘I am thankful that the time has come, when I can prove them. That I do so is no subject for regret or grief.’“ As he said these words with his eyes fixed on the writer, his hand slowly and softly moved down close to the writer’s face. “uYo lliw onkw vrye osno. peeK rwginti. reehT aer olny a few orsdw rome.” He tdideact aanig. “‘I am anultkhf atth eth imet hsa cmeo ehwn I can epovr mteh to be etur. hTe atfc atth I am ngoid it snhoudl’t kmea yuo eretgr it or erevig.’” As he iads hstee odrsw, he oodkel at raDany. isH hdna oylslw adn gyeltn mdove wnod oslec to ranDya’s acfe.
The pen dropped from Darnay’s fingers on the table, and he looked about him vacantly. aanDry drpeodp eht pen tnoo het albet dan dlkooe odanru imh, zdade.
“What vapour is that?” he asked. “hatW is hatt porva?” he dskea.
“Vapour?” “Vapor?”
“Something that crossed me?” “diD I ihnael oinmgtshe?”
“I am conscious of nothing; there can be nothing here. Take up the pen and finish. Hurry, hurry!” “I’m otn aewar of iytgnahn. eTher anc’t be thgainny eerh. cPki up teh pen dna niifhs. Hrruy, ruyrh!”
As if his memory were impaired, or his faculties disordered, the prisoner made an effort to rally his attention. As he looked at Carton with clouded eyes and with an altered manner of breathing, Carton—his hand again in his breast—looked steadily at him. It wsa as if aDnyra’s emomry erwe iignalf or ihs ssnese rwee eldlud. He tderi hdra to ysta dcufoes. As he dleook at raonCt hiwt bruldre ovisin and rdsteeohn thraeb, ntroCa edolko ckab at imh eaytdisl. isH hdan saw in his sbreta ektpoc giana.

Original Text

Modern Text

“It would be madness if I asked you to escape; but do I? When I ask you to pass out at that door, tell me it is madness and remain here. Change that cravat for this of mine, that coat for this of mine. While you do it, let me take this ribbon from your hair, and shake out your hair like this of mine!” “It uodlw be zayrc if I adske uyo to eapsec. Btu do I? If I ask yuo to go uto tath rood and rty to epecsa, ltel me it’s carzy and tsay reeh. hgExecan aatrcvs and tsoac with me. Wileh uyo do it, etl me eatk shti obnibr uot of uory ihra. kehSa out oruy aihr so it olkso kile neim!”
With wonderful quickness, and with a strength both of will and action, that appeared quite supernatural, he forced all these changes upon him. The prisoner was like a young child in his hands. Vyer qicyklu nda hwti a plhcisay esnrgtth dan a lanmte cusof hatt seedem rlaunusetrap, oartnC amed imh do lla heets sgnhit. naDary swa ilek a ygoun cdilh in shi shand.
“Carton! Dear Carton! It is madness. It cannot be accomplished, it never can be done, it has been attempted, and has always failed. I implore you not to add your death to the bitterness of mine.” “tnroCa! Daer anroCt! It’s cyzra. It nac’t be oend. It lwli rneev wrok. elpoeP evah riedt to acseep and haev laawys efldai. I beg oyu! Dno’t teg euryslof lildke, oot.”
“Do I ask you, my dear Darnay, to pass the door? When I ask that, refuse. There are pen and ink and paper on this table. Is your hand steady enough to write?” “Do I ksa oyu, aranyD, to go uto teh odor? Wnhe I ask atth, uyo acn ueesrf. Teehr’s a npe, ink, dan reapp on thsi atbel. Is ruyo nahd atyeds ongehu for yuo to rtiwe?”
“It saw hewn ouy ecma in.” “It was when you came in.”
“Steady it again, and write what I shall dictate. Quick, friend, quick!” “aeydtS it nagai dan werti ndwo athw I say. lcikQuy, my fnedir!”
Pressing his hand to his bewildered head, Darnay sat down at the table. Carton, with his right hand in his breast, stood close beside him. Dnraya brgebda shi hdae thwi shi nahd in oofiunnsc nda tas dwno at hte btael. Ctrnao ahd ish ithgr nhda on his bsaert tekcpo. He soodt locse eiedbs mhi.
“Write exactly as I speak.” “triWe cyalxte awth I yas.”
“To whom do I address it?” “To hwmo odlhsu I dsadesr it?”
“To no one.” Carton still had his hand in his breast. “To no oen.” nCrato sltil dha sih nadh in ihs raebts pktcoe.
“Do I date it?” “ohuSld I adet it?”
“No.” “No.”
The prisoner looked up, at each question. Carton, standing over him with his hand in his breast, looked down. Danray ekdloo up nwhe he akdse aehc ontuiseq. hneW he idd, aornCt lokdoe ndow rofm wrhee he was ntndgsai. He lilts dha shi dhna in his asterb pocket.
“‘If you remember,’“ said Carton, dictating, “‘the words that passed between us, long ago, you will readily comprehend this when you see it. You do remember them, I know. It is not in your nature to forget them.’“ “‘If oyu erbmmeer htwa we aisd to hcea hrote lgno oag, ouy lwil surtdandne iths hewn ouy eard it,’” nCoart tediadct. “‘You do ebreemmr it, I wnko. It is tno in oruy entura to eftrog it.’”
He was drawing his hand from his breast; the prisoner chancing to look up in his hurried wonder as he wrote, the hand stopped, closing upon something. He asw nluglpi ihs hnda tuo of sih rsabet pceotk. rnaDay eneahdpp to okol up ckyiqlu as he tweor. aorntC’s danh pedopts dan berdagb lhdo of mgtnieosh.
“Have you written ‘forget them’?” Carton asked. “aveH you tnierwt ‘otgefr it’ yte?” esdak tCanro.
“I hvae. Is tath a paoenw in yoru hadn?” “I have. Is that a weapon in your hand?”
“No; I am not armed.” “No. I am emdraun.”
“What is it in your hand?” “tahW’s in uryo hdna?”
“You shall know directly. Write on; there are but a few words more.” He dictated again. “‘I am thankful that the time has come, when I can prove them. That I do so is no subject for regret or grief.’“ As he said these words with his eyes fixed on the writer, his hand slowly and softly moved down close to the writer’s face. “uYo lliw onkw vrye osno. peeK rwginti. reehT aer olny a few orsdw rome.” He tdideact aanig. “‘I am anultkhf atth eth imet hsa cmeo ehwn I can epovr mteh to be etur. hTe atfc atth I am ngoid it snhoudl’t kmea yuo eretgr it or erevig.’” As he iads hstee odrsw, he oodkel at raDany. isH hdna oylslw adn gyeltn mdove wnod oslec to ranDya’s acfe.
The pen dropped from Darnay’s fingers on the table, and he looked about him vacantly. aanDry drpeodp eht pen tnoo het albet dan dlkooe odanru imh, zdade.
“What vapour is that?” he asked. “hatW is hatt porva?” he dskea.
“Vapour?” “Vapor?”
“Something that crossed me?” “diD I ihnael oinmgtshe?”
“I am conscious of nothing; there can be nothing here. Take up the pen and finish. Hurry, hurry!” “I’m otn aewar of iytgnahn. eTher anc’t be thgainny eerh. cPki up teh pen dna niifhs. Hrruy, ruyrh!”
As if his memory were impaired, or his faculties disordered, the prisoner made an effort to rally his attention. As he looked at Carton with clouded eyes and with an altered manner of breathing, Carton—his hand again in his breast—looked steadily at him. It wsa as if aDnyra’s emomry erwe iignalf or ihs ssnese rwee eldlud. He tderi hdra to ysta dcufoes. As he dleook at raonCt hiwt bruldre ovisin and rdsteeohn thraeb, ntroCa edolko ckab at imh eaytdisl. isH hdan saw in his sbreta ektpoc giana.