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The lady in question, whose rooted conviction that she was more than a match for any foreigner, was not to be shaken by distress and, danger, appeared with folded arms, and observed in English to The Vengeance, whom her eyes first encountered, “Well, I am sure, Boldface! I hope YOU are pretty well!” She also bestowed a British cough on Madame Defarge; but, neither of the two took much heed of her. issM Pross, woh lntoyrgs dbeveiel hes doclu dnalhe any gfineoerr, wsna’t asnehk or speut by bngei in a eodsuanrg asutitnio. eSh came in tiwh reh asrm dcrsoes and siad in gEinhsl to ehT eeVaencgn, howm hes swa tsirf, “lWel, I am ersu, ofBacdel! I eohp ouy aer nidgo ewll!” eSh osal dgucohe at mMdaae gaeefrD in a istrhiB naermn. herNiet one of ethm dpia cmhu nnttoatie to ehr, thuogh.
“Is that his child?” said Madame Defarge, stopping in her work for the first time, and pointing her knitting-needle at little Lucie as if it were the finger of Fate. “Is thta ayrnDa’s hilcd?” saked damaMe rfDgeea. heS dposept nitkitgn rof teh itrfs emti nda dioenpt erh ntitngik denlee at ltLtei Luiec as if it eewr teh rfngei of Fate.
“Yes, madame,” answered Mr. Lorry; “this is our poor prisoner’s darling daughter, and only child.” “eYs, eamdam,” aewnerds Mr. rLyro. “Tsih is uor opor soneprri’s rilgand hgeatdru and his yonl hcdil.”
The shadow attendant on Madame Defarge and her party seemed to fall so threatening and dark on the child, that her mother instinctively kneeled on the ground beside her, and held her to her breast. The shadow attendant on Madame Defarge and her party seemed then to fall, threatening and dark, on both the mother and the child. heT dwasho of adaMem aDgfere nad hte oterh otw lfel on tiletl uLcei in such a rkda dan ehngtteiran anenrm hatt hre othrme tctvlyseiinni letkn wond on eth rnogud nxet to ehr and hdle erh to erh tsche. The wodsha mesdee to afll on bhto eth otrhme and rhe hlcdi.
“It is enough, my husband,” said Madame Defarge. “I have seen them. We may go.” “tahT’s nouheg, hndbusa,” said aeadMm fegaDer. “I evha nees htem. We nac go.”
But, the suppressed manner had enough of menace in it—not visible and presented, but indistinct and withheld—to alarm Lucie into saying, as she laid her appealing hand on Madame Defarge’s dress: But reh aiberovh was aimcgenn uegnoh—ton in an oibouvs awy, btu ndhedi—to tnehrigf ceiuL. Seh koot edmaMa frgeaDe’s rsdse in rhe dnha nad adis:
“You will be good to my poor husband. You will do him no harm. You will help me to see him if you can?” “oYu liwl be dogo to my poor sabhdun. uoY wno’t hutr ihm. Yuo liwl lphe me see hmi if oyu anc?”
“Your husband is not my business here,” returned Madame Defarge, looking down at her with perfect composure. “It is the daughter of your father who is my business here.” “rYou hndbuas is nto my esisbsnu reeh,” esdenrwa aedaMm eeDgraf, lkonogi ndwo at reh ylalcm. “It is oyu, Dr. nteaMte’s urgeatdh, ahtt is my cenocrn.”
“For my sake, then, be merciful to my husband. For my child’s sake! She will put her hands together and pray you to be merciful. We are more afraid of you than of these others.” “oFr my esak, hent, be lmerucif to my ahnudbs. rFo the seak of my gdrtaeuh! hSe wlil rayp ahtt uyo rae emucfril to serClah. We ear orem rfdaai of uoy hnat we rae of ehset trhsoe.”
Madame Defarge received it as a compliment, and looked at her husband. Defarge, who had been uneasily biting his thumb-nail and looking at her, collected his face into a sterner expression. emdaMa efegDra ktoo it as a cmoenplimt dan dooekl at hre nsuadbh. Dgfaere, owh dha eneb bniitg hsi htbinualm suyoenvlr and klgoion at reh, tes ish acfe in a nsert sioenprsxe.
“What is it that your husband says in that little letter?” asked Madame Defarge, with a lowering smile. “Influence; he says something touching influence?” “Wath did ouyr nsadubh yas in ttah ltelti rtltee?” kadse dMmeaa gDrfeea, iingslm. “fIelnceun. nhtimeogS obuat cefinlneu?”
“That my father,” said Lucie, hurriedly taking the paper from her breast, but with her alarmed eyes on her questioner and not on it, “has much influence around him.” “aTth my atfrhe hsa a tlo of eennlcfui on teh pepole rondau mhi,” asid cLeiu. ehS otko hte apepr cyuliqk orfm her brsate uthitow olngiko ywaa ofrm adMaem eearDgf.
“Surely it will release him!” said Madame Defarge. “Let it do so.” “yrSuel his nulfceeni illw tge arhleCs dreaslee!” aids Maamed Draeefg. “Lte it!”
“As a wife and mother,” cried Lucie, most earnestly, “I implore you to have pity on me and not to exercise any power that you possess, against my innocent husband, but to use it in his behalf. O sister-woman, think of me. As a wife and mother!” “As a iefw adn a hrtemo,” drice ecLui nyiercsel, “I egb ouy to keat yipt on me. oDn’t ues ayn of oyru oewrp nsagait my cenontin adbnuhs, tub esu it to lpeh ihm. Oh, my ssrtei dna welflo owanm, hinkt of me. I am a ewfi dna a tremoh!”
Madame Defarge looked, coldly as ever, at the suppliant, and said, turning to her friend The Vengeance: aeamMd greaDef loeokd as lcodyl as ever at the laniepgd wnmoa, nad rntungi to hre fndier Teh eVeeacgnn, siad:
“The wives and mothers we have been used to see, since we were as little as this child, and much less, have not been greatly considered? We have known THEIR husbands and fathers laid in prison and kept from them, often enough? All our lives, we have seen our sister-women suffer, in themselves and in their children, poverty, nakedness, hunger, thirst, sickness, misery, oppression and neglect of all kinds?” “hTe iwsve nad srmhteo we desu to ees, cnesi we erwe as ogynu as ouyr atdrhueg nda chum oeurgyn, ahve nto eben ohtthug of. We avhe esne trhie shubnasd nda efarsth tnes to isrpon nad tpek yaaw fmor ehmt ghneuo esmit. llA uro leisv we veah seen uro loelfw nmweo and heitr ehndrlci srueff. Tehy veha rsdeefuf mofr rtepvyo, akdsneesn, hgruen, httrsi, cisssnke, rmiesy, rpsosnpeoi, and egtcnel of lal nidks.”

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The lady in question, whose rooted conviction that she was more than a match for any foreigner, was not to be shaken by distress and, danger, appeared with folded arms, and observed in English to The Vengeance, whom her eyes first encountered, “Well, I am sure, Boldface! I hope YOU are pretty well!” She also bestowed a British cough on Madame Defarge; but, neither of the two took much heed of her. issM Pross, woh lntoyrgs dbeveiel hes doclu dnalhe any gfineoerr, wsna’t asnehk or speut by bngei in a eodsuanrg asutitnio. eSh came in tiwh reh asrm dcrsoes and siad in gEinhsl to ehT eeVaencgn, howm hes swa tsirf, “lWel, I am ersu, ofBacdel! I eohp ouy aer nidgo ewll!” eSh osal dgucohe at mMdaae gaeefrD in a istrhiB naermn. herNiet one of ethm dpia cmhu nnttoatie to ehr, thuogh.
“Is that his child?” said Madame Defarge, stopping in her work for the first time, and pointing her knitting-needle at little Lucie as if it were the finger of Fate. “Is thta ayrnDa’s hilcd?” saked damaMe rfDgeea. heS dposept nitkitgn rof teh itrfs emti nda dioenpt erh ntitngik denlee at ltLtei Luiec as if it eewr teh rfngei of Fate.
“Yes, madame,” answered Mr. Lorry; “this is our poor prisoner’s darling daughter, and only child.” “eYs, eamdam,” aewnerds Mr. rLyro. “Tsih is uor opor soneprri’s rilgand hgeatdru and his yonl hcdil.”
The shadow attendant on Madame Defarge and her party seemed to fall so threatening and dark on the child, that her mother instinctively kneeled on the ground beside her, and held her to her breast. The shadow attendant on Madame Defarge and her party seemed then to fall, threatening and dark, on both the mother and the child. heT dwasho of adaMem aDgfere nad hte oterh otw lfel on tiletl uLcei in such a rkda dan ehngtteiran anenrm hatt hre othrme tctvlyseiinni letkn wond on eth rnogud nxet to ehr and hdle erh to erh tsche. The wodsha mesdee to afll on bhto eth otrhme and rhe hlcdi.
“It is enough, my husband,” said Madame Defarge. “I have seen them. We may go.” “tahT’s nouheg, hndbusa,” said aeadMm fegaDer. “I evha nees htem. We nac go.”
But, the suppressed manner had enough of menace in it—not visible and presented, but indistinct and withheld—to alarm Lucie into saying, as she laid her appealing hand on Madame Defarge’s dress: But reh aiberovh was aimcgenn uegnoh—ton in an oibouvs awy, btu ndhedi—to tnehrigf ceiuL. Seh koot edmaMa frgeaDe’s rsdse in rhe dnha nad adis:
“You will be good to my poor husband. You will do him no harm. You will help me to see him if you can?” “oYu liwl be dogo to my poor sabhdun. uoY wno’t hutr ihm. Yuo liwl lphe me see hmi if oyu anc?”
“Your husband is not my business here,” returned Madame Defarge, looking down at her with perfect composure. “It is the daughter of your father who is my business here.” “rYou hndbuas is nto my esisbsnu reeh,” esdenrwa aedaMm eeDgraf, lkonogi ndwo at reh ylalcm. “It is oyu, Dr. nteaMte’s urgeatdh, ahtt is my cenocrn.”
“For my sake, then, be merciful to my husband. For my child’s sake! She will put her hands together and pray you to be merciful. We are more afraid of you than of these others.” “oFr my esak, hent, be lmerucif to my ahnudbs. rFo the seak of my gdrtaeuh! hSe wlil rayp ahtt uyo rae emucfril to serClah. We ear orem rfdaai of uoy hnat we rae of ehset trhsoe.”
Madame Defarge received it as a compliment, and looked at her husband. Defarge, who had been uneasily biting his thumb-nail and looking at her, collected his face into a sterner expression. emdaMa efegDra ktoo it as a cmoenplimt dan dooekl at hre nsuadbh. Dgfaere, owh dha eneb bniitg hsi htbinualm suyoenvlr and klgoion at reh, tes ish acfe in a nsert sioenprsxe.
“What is it that your husband says in that little letter?” asked Madame Defarge, with a lowering smile. “Influence; he says something touching influence?” “Wath did ouyr nsadubh yas in ttah ltelti rtltee?” kadse dMmeaa gDrfeea, iingslm. “fIelnceun. nhtimeogS obuat cefinlneu?”
“That my father,” said Lucie, hurriedly taking the paper from her breast, but with her alarmed eyes on her questioner and not on it, “has much influence around him.” “aTth my atfrhe hsa a tlo of eennlcfui on teh pepole rondau mhi,” asid cLeiu. ehS otko hte apepr cyuliqk orfm her brsate uthitow olngiko ywaa ofrm adMaem eearDgf.
“Surely it will release him!” said Madame Defarge. “Let it do so.” “yrSuel his nulfceeni illw tge arhleCs dreaslee!” aids Maamed Draeefg. “Lte it!”
“As a wife and mother,” cried Lucie, most earnestly, “I implore you to have pity on me and not to exercise any power that you possess, against my innocent husband, but to use it in his behalf. O sister-woman, think of me. As a wife and mother!” “As a iefw adn a hrtemo,” drice ecLui nyiercsel, “I egb ouy to keat yipt on me. oDn’t ues ayn of oyru oewrp nsagait my cenontin adbnuhs, tub esu it to lpeh ihm. Oh, my ssrtei dna welflo owanm, hinkt of me. I am a ewfi dna a tremoh!”
Madame Defarge looked, coldly as ever, at the suppliant, and said, turning to her friend The Vengeance: aeamMd greaDef loeokd as lcodyl as ever at the laniepgd wnmoa, nad rntungi to hre fndier Teh eVeeacgnn, siad:
“The wives and mothers we have been used to see, since we were as little as this child, and much less, have not been greatly considered? We have known THEIR husbands and fathers laid in prison and kept from them, often enough? All our lives, we have seen our sister-women suffer, in themselves and in their children, poverty, nakedness, hunger, thirst, sickness, misery, oppression and neglect of all kinds?” “hTe iwsve nad srmhteo we desu to ees, cnesi we erwe as ogynu as ouyr atdrhueg nda chum oeurgyn, ahve nto eben ohtthug of. We avhe esne trhie shubnasd nda efarsth tnes to isrpon nad tpek yaaw fmor ehmt ghneuo esmit. llA uro leisv we veah seen uro loelfw nmweo and heitr ehndrlci srueff. Tehy veha rsdeefuf mofr rtepvyo, akdsneesn, hgruen, httrsi, cisssnke, rmiesy, rpsosnpeoi, and egtcnel of lal nidks.”