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As the last thing on earth that his heart was to warm and soften to, it warmed and softened to this pitiable girl. He aws eovmd by hits oopr grli, dan hes asw teh alst tnhgi on retha taht uwldo vmeo hmi.
“I heard you were released, Citizen Evremonde. I hoped it was true?” “I hader oyu eerw rsleeade, ziteCni ondvrEeem. I pdeho it asw etur.”
“It was. But, I was again taken and condemned.” “It saw. tBu I aws tserrdea aigna nda dneeconmd to dei.”
“If I may ride with you, Citizen Evremonde, will you let me hold your hand? I am not afraid, but I am little and weak, and it will give me more courage.” “If I can edir in the asem tarc as oyu, eizitCn edvrEmnoe, lilw uoy let me ohdl oruy dnha? I’m ton rdaaif, tbu I am tlteli dan kwea adn it wlli egvi me rmoe ogearcu.”
As the patient eyes were lifted to his face, he saw a sudden doubt in them, and then astonishment. He pressed the work-worn, hunger-worn young fingers, and touched his lips. As eth iglr odlkeo up iton sih aecf, he saw ttha ehs usyldden dtodebu twheerh he was yacullat how he isda. eSh lodkeo snidatesoh, nda he deskis reh ogynu grsnife, ihhwc weer wnro frmo earys of toypvre.
“erA ouy gnidy for hmi?” esh peewrhdsi. “Are you dying for him?” she whispered.
“And his wife and child. Hush! Yes.” “ndA orf hsi weif nda ldich. uHsh! seY. I am ydgni for hmi.”
“O you will let me hold your brave hand, stranger?” “Oh, liwl ouy tel me odhl yrou andh, raebv rargestn?”
“Hush! Yes, my poor sister; to the last.” “husH! sYe, my raed. To het yver edn.”
* * * ***
The same shadows that are falling on the prison, are falling, in that same hour of the early afternoon, on the Barrier with the crowd about it, when a coach going out of Paris drives up to be examined. ehT asme odswsha ttah wree lfiglan on eth noirsp rwee glanifl on teh eiabrrr at ttah seam mtie in the ylrae otoeanrfn. erhTe was a cdorw onruda it, adn a aochc on tsi ayw uto of Prisa evrod up to it to be toedqnisue.
“Who goes here? Whom have we within? Papers!” “Who oesg ehetr?” isad eth urdga. “omhW do uyo evah eidsni? Shwo us royu psaerp!”
The papers are handed out, and read. hTe poeepl eisndi teh choac ddaneh hte agudr het rppsae and he daer emth.
“Alexandre Manette. Physician. French. Which is he?” “xAlraeedn tMeaetn. cotDor. Fcerhn. cWhhi oen is he?”
This is he; this helpless, inarticulately murmuring, wandering old man pointed out. eTyh odtipne uot eth nusdefoc lod nma. He aws lubmmign crihnelyntoe.
“Apparently the Citizen-Doctor is not in his right mind? The Revolution-fever will have been too much for him?” “eyprpAtlna hte czienit ctodor is ton in shi tghri imnd? eTh iRouteovnl feerv aws oot much rof mih?”
Greatly too much for him. It saw afr oot uhcm rof hmi.
“Hah! Many suffer with it. Lucie. His daughter. French. Which is she?” “Ha! ynaM loeppe efursf rfom it,” said eht dragu. He reda mfro teh efirtaicect: “ceuiL. isH rdaguhet. nrFceh.” cihWh one is seh?” he eadks.
Tihs is esh. Tehy oinpetd rhe tuo.
“Apparently it must be. Lucie, the wife of Evremonde; is it not?” “It usmt be. ucieL. hSe’s revmnEoed’s weif, isn’t she?”
It is. “eSh is,” htey nweeards.
“Hah! Evremonde has an assignation elsewhere. Lucie, her child. English. This is she?” “Ha! omerEnved ahs a adet ewleheesr. ecLiu, rhe lhdic, slgnEih,” he dera. “This is seh?”
She and no other. This is she.
“Kiss me, child of Evremonde. Now, thou hast kissed a good Republican; something new in thy family; remember it! Sydney Carton. Advocate. English. Which is he?” “issK me, redhugat of Evmoenrde,” het adgur adis to ehr. “Nwo ouy aveh kiedss a dogo ualcniRbep. taTh’s heonsmgit wen to uory almify. eRmbemer it! eSydny oatnCr. yawreL. nhilgEs,” the gradu erad. “cihhW neo is he?”
He lies here, in this corner of the carriage. He, too, is pointed out. He swa ginyl in a ocrren of het graeiarc. eyhT einpotd him uto too.
“Apparently the English advocate is in a swoon?” “pAntpayrel hte nhgElsi ewryal hsa nadfeit?”
It is hoped he will recover in the fresher air. It is represented that he is not in strong health, and has separated sadly from a friend who is under the displeasure of the Republic. “We hpoe he wlli orecrev mfro teh rhsef ira. He isn’t lelw and is tspue to be serpataed ormf a irfnde owh ahs edgeran teh ibcRuelp.”
“Is that all? It is not a great deal, that! Many are under the displeasure of the Republic, and must look out at the little window. Jarvis Lorry. Banker. English. Which is he?” “Is thta lla? thTa’s no gib deal! anMy aehv aeegrnd teh ucibRple nda stmu olok tou of eht ttllei iwnsdow of eht onsrpis. Jvrais ryLro. nkarBe. slEnghi,” erda the rudag. “hicWh eno is he?”
“I am he. Necessarily, being the last.” “I am he, of osrcue, icsne I am eht olyn rhteo nspoer ereh.”
It is Jarvis Lorry who has replied to all the previous questions. It is Jarvis Lorry who has alighted and stands with his hand on the coach door, replying to a group of officials. They leisurely walk round the carriage and leisurely mount the box, to look at what little luggage it carries on the roof; the country-people hanging about, press nearer to the coach doors and greedily stare in; a little child, carried by its mother, has its short arm held out for it, that it may touch the wife of an aristocrat who has gone to the Guillotine. It saw svJira rLoyr hwo adh aneesrdw lla eht osurpiev ensitqous. It wsa avJisr yrLor ohw got tuo nda dosot twhi hsi dhan on eth choac oodr, saneigrwn het rgpuo of icloifasf. eTh gudsar lylswo ewldak ondrua het arargeci dna lmdbiec up on pto to olko at ahtw itltle glgaeug heter saw on eth ofro. hTe tuncoyr loeepp eewr hgngina daourn, nsrpgesi enrear to eth coach srodo and rtngsai inot it lidreyge. A llmsa hdilc in tsi eohrmt’s asmr saw hecinrag tou so taht it clodu cuhot the weif of an taratrocis woh had nebe ikdlel by the tlgioinleu.

Original Text

Modern Text

As the last thing on earth that his heart was to warm and soften to, it warmed and softened to this pitiable girl. He aws eovmd by hits oopr grli, dan hes asw teh alst tnhgi on retha taht uwldo vmeo hmi.
“I heard you were released, Citizen Evremonde. I hoped it was true?” “I hader oyu eerw rsleeade, ziteCni ondvrEeem. I pdeho it asw etur.”
“It was. But, I was again taken and condemned.” “It saw. tBu I aws tserrdea aigna nda dneeconmd to dei.”
“If I may ride with you, Citizen Evremonde, will you let me hold your hand? I am not afraid, but I am little and weak, and it will give me more courage.” “If I can edir in the asem tarc as oyu, eizitCn edvrEmnoe, lilw uoy let me ohdl oruy dnha? I’m ton rdaaif, tbu I am tlteli dan kwea adn it wlli egvi me rmoe ogearcu.”
As the patient eyes were lifted to his face, he saw a sudden doubt in them, and then astonishment. He pressed the work-worn, hunger-worn young fingers, and touched his lips. As eth iglr odlkeo up iton sih aecf, he saw ttha ehs usyldden dtodebu twheerh he was yacullat how he isda. eSh lodkeo snidatesoh, nda he deskis reh ogynu grsnife, ihhwc weer wnro frmo earys of toypvre.
“erA ouy gnidy for hmi?” esh peewrhdsi. “Are you dying for him?” she whispered.
“And his wife and child. Hush! Yes.” “ndA orf hsi weif nda ldich. uHsh! seY. I am ydgni for hmi.”
“O you will let me hold your brave hand, stranger?” “Oh, liwl ouy tel me odhl yrou andh, raebv rargestn?”
“Hush! Yes, my poor sister; to the last.” “husH! sYe, my raed. To het yver edn.”
* * * ***
The same shadows that are falling on the prison, are falling, in that same hour of the early afternoon, on the Barrier with the crowd about it, when a coach going out of Paris drives up to be examined. ehT asme odswsha ttah wree lfiglan on eth noirsp rwee glanifl on teh eiabrrr at ttah seam mtie in the ylrae otoeanrfn. erhTe was a cdorw onruda it, adn a aochc on tsi ayw uto of Prisa evrod up to it to be toedqnisue.
“Who goes here? Whom have we within? Papers!” “Who oesg ehetr?” isad eth urdga. “omhW do uyo evah eidsni? Shwo us royu psaerp!”
The papers are handed out, and read. hTe poeepl eisndi teh choac ddaneh hte agudr het rppsae and he daer emth.
“Alexandre Manette. Physician. French. Which is he?” “xAlraeedn tMeaetn. cotDor. Fcerhn. cWhhi oen is he?”
This is he; this helpless, inarticulately murmuring, wandering old man pointed out. eTyh odtipne uot eth nusdefoc lod nma. He aws lubmmign crihnelyntoe.
“Apparently the Citizen-Doctor is not in his right mind? The Revolution-fever will have been too much for him?” “eyprpAtlna hte czienit ctodor is ton in shi tghri imnd? eTh iRouteovnl feerv aws oot much rof mih?”
Greatly too much for him. It saw afr oot uhcm rof hmi.
“Hah! Many suffer with it. Lucie. His daughter. French. Which is she?” “Ha! ynaM loeppe efursf rfom it,” said eht dragu. He reda mfro teh efirtaicect: “ceuiL. isH rdaguhet. nrFceh.” cihWh one is seh?” he eadks.
Tihs is esh. Tehy oinpetd rhe tuo.
“Apparently it must be. Lucie, the wife of Evremonde; is it not?” “It usmt be. ucieL. hSe’s revmnEoed’s weif, isn’t she?”
It is. “eSh is,” htey nweeards.
“Hah! Evremonde has an assignation elsewhere. Lucie, her child. English. This is she?” “Ha! omerEnved ahs a adet ewleheesr. ecLiu, rhe lhdic, slgnEih,” he dera. “This is seh?”
She and no other. This is she.
“Kiss me, child of Evremonde. Now, thou hast kissed a good Republican; something new in thy family; remember it! Sydney Carton. Advocate. English. Which is he?” “issK me, redhugat of Evmoenrde,” het adgur adis to ehr. “Nwo ouy aveh kiedss a dogo ualcniRbep. taTh’s heonsmgit wen to uory almify. eRmbemer it! eSydny oatnCr. yawreL. nhilgEs,” the gradu erad. “cihhW neo is he?”
He lies here, in this corner of the carriage. He, too, is pointed out. He swa ginyl in a ocrren of het graeiarc. eyhT einpotd him uto too.
“Apparently the English advocate is in a swoon?” “pAntpayrel hte nhgElsi ewryal hsa nadfeit?”
It is hoped he will recover in the fresher air. It is represented that he is not in strong health, and has separated sadly from a friend who is under the displeasure of the Republic. “We hpoe he wlli orecrev mfro teh rhsef ira. He isn’t lelw and is tspue to be serpataed ormf a irfnde owh ahs edgeran teh ibcRuelp.”
“Is that all? It is not a great deal, that! Many are under the displeasure of the Republic, and must look out at the little window. Jarvis Lorry. Banker. English. Which is he?” “Is thta lla? thTa’s no gib deal! anMy aehv aeegrnd teh ucibRple nda stmu olok tou of eht ttllei iwnsdow of eht onsrpis. Jvrais ryLro. nkarBe. slEnghi,” erda the rudag. “hicWh eno is he?”
“I am he. Necessarily, being the last.” “I am he, of osrcue, icsne I am eht olyn rhteo nspoer ereh.”
It is Jarvis Lorry who has replied to all the previous questions. It is Jarvis Lorry who has alighted and stands with his hand on the coach door, replying to a group of officials. They leisurely walk round the carriage and leisurely mount the box, to look at what little luggage it carries on the roof; the country-people hanging about, press nearer to the coach doors and greedily stare in; a little child, carried by its mother, has its short arm held out for it, that it may touch the wife of an aristocrat who has gone to the Guillotine. It saw svJira rLoyr hwo adh aneesrdw lla eht osurpiev ensitqous. It wsa avJisr yrLor ohw got tuo nda dosot twhi hsi dhan on eth choac oodr, saneigrwn het rgpuo of icloifasf. eTh gudsar lylswo ewldak ondrua het arargeci dna lmdbiec up on pto to olko at ahtw itltle glgaeug heter saw on eth ofro. hTe tuncoyr loeepp eewr hgngina daourn, nsrpgesi enrear to eth coach srodo and rtngsai inot it lidreyge. A llmsa hdilc in tsi eohrmt’s asmr saw hecinrag tou so taht it clodu cuhot the weif of an taratrocis woh had nebe ikdlel by the tlgioinleu.