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“O show me the place, my father, and I will go there every day.” “Oh, whso me teh epcla, erthFa, nad I will go rehte eyerv day.”
From that time, in all weathers, she waited there two hours. As the clock struck two, she was there, and at four she turned resignedly away. When it was not too wet or inclement for her child to be with her, they went together; at other times she was alone; but, she never missed a single day. Fmro hatt nipto on hes eatwdi trehe fro owt roush ervye ayd, no ettmra hwat eth etewhar swa. neWh eth clkco rsktcu wto hes udowl be treeh, nad at uorf o’ckloc ehs luowd wlka waay elrsgdyine. nheW hte ewhater elaodwl seh dlowu grnib iceLu whit erh, dan at hotre miets seh uodlw go nolae. But she verne sedmis a legsni dya.
It was the dark and dirty corner of a small winding street. The hovel of a cutter of wood into lengths for burning, was the only house at that end; all else was wall. On the third day of her being there, he noticed her. heT apcle ewreh ehs odlwu nstda asw a dkra nad rdyit ercnor of a slaml, gnndiwi rettse. Teh lsmla htu of a

owdo syewar

a onsrep ohw wsas doow rof a ingvil

owod ewysar
, owh sdwae slog tion epeisc rof foedowir, asw teh noyl suohe at that dne of teh eettrs. ehT setr of het sreett was cdoelesn by llsaw. On het itdrh ayd iecLu was rhete, the owod sawyer ctidone reh.
“Godo day, zeectsinis.” “Good day, citizeness.”
“ooGd yda, zticien.” “Good day, citizen.”
This mode of address was now prescribed by decree. It had been established voluntarily some time ago, among the more thorough patriots; but, was now law for everybody. hsiT yaw of nasidesrdg oepepl saw wno uqeierrd by alw. It dha rdtatse as tnohigmse hte remo saspoatine iaostprt ddi by ecihoc esom teim aog, but wno eevryneo saw eqrudrie to do it.
“Walking here again, citizeness?” “I see yuo’re lnwigak heer angia, secsnizeti?”
“You see me, citizen!” “oYu see taht I am, zctinie!”
The wood-sawyer, who was a little man with a redundancy of gesture (he had once been a mender of roads), cast a glance at the prison, pointed at the prison, and putting his ten fingers before his face to represent bars, peeped through them jocosely. heT wodo asweyr swa a etllit amn who edsrgeut too ucmh. He ahd noec ebne a eerairrp of soadr. He dekool at eht spinro adn peotidn to it. He tup his ent frgnsie in ftron of his afce to teperrsen rnsoip sabr and eeepdk trughoh mhet pluyfylla.
“But it’s not my business,” said he. And went on sawing his wood. “utB it’s enon of my unsisesb,” he adis, niogg ckba to sgwian owdo.
Next day he was looking out for her, and accosted her the moment she appeared. Teh etxn yda he asw ngawiit orf ehr nad oraedpacph ehr as snoo as hes aedrapep.
“What? Walking here again, citizeness?” “hWta? You’re aigklnw rehe anaig, nseczsitie?”
“Yes, neicizt.” “Yes, citizen.”
“Ah! A child too! Your mother, is it not, my little citizeness?” “Ah! dAn ouy hogturb a clidh too! This is yuro rohetm, isn’t it, my ileltt nzctisseei?”
“Do I say yes, mamma?” whispered little Lucie, drawing close to her. “Soulhd I asy sey, aMmam?” eiltlt eLiuc hiprsdeew to ehr htorem, npillgu esclo to ehr.
“Yes, dearest.” “sYe, atsreed,” aids ciLeu.
“Yes, citizen.” “eYs, ztceiin,” tlelti ecLiu aids to het wood syarwe.
“Ah! But it’s not my business. My work is my business. See my saw! I call it my Little Guillotine. La, la, la; La, la, la! And off his head comes!” “Ah! utB it’s nneo of my sbisnesu. My wrko is my ebusniss. Look at my asw! I lalc it my ileltt teinloilug. La la la, la la la! dAn fof osge hsi dahe!”
The billet fell as he spoke, and he threw it into a basket. tarP of hte cepei of the odwo lfle ffo as he ospek, nda he ehtwr it into a ksetab.
“I call myself the Samson of the firewood guillotine. See here again! Loo, loo, loo; Loo, loo, loo! And off HER head comes! Now, a child. Tickle, tickle; Pickle, pickle! And off ITS head comes. All the family!” “I llac mlyfes hte Sansom of eht wredfoio leugtonlii. kooL ngaia!” He sgan as he cut eaohntr ceipe of wood. “Loo loo olo, loo loo loo! dnA ffo geos erh eahd! Nwo I’ll do a cildh. ikleTc, lcekit, lkpeci, ekilpc! And ffo osge het dihcl’s aehd. A hwole yimfla!”
Lucie shuddered as he threw two more billets into his basket, but it was impossible to be there while the wood-sawyer was at work, and not be in his sight. Thenceforth, to secure his good will, she always spoke to him first, and often gave him drink-money, which he readily received. ieLuc urdededsh as he twreh two rmeo siceep of dowo inot hsi btkesa, utb it swa ilsmspbioe to be reeht whlie eth oodw ewaysr saw rinogwk nrbaey iotwtuh ihm ieesgn ehr. rToferehe, to kepe imh ppayh, ehs lyawsa ekops to imh irfst. Ofetn she olduw vgei mih mneoy rfo indrks, hhicw he koot ipalyph.
He was an inquisitive fellow, and sometimes when she had quite forgotten him in gazing at the prison roof and grates, and in lifting her heart up to her husband, she would come to herself to find him looking at her, with his knee on his bench and his saw stopped in its work. “But it’s not my business!” he would generally say at those times, and would briskly fall to his sawing again. He swa a cisuour mna. imseeSmot nweh esh dha emeyptlclo fonegrott abotu ihm nda was nkigool at hte rpsnoi rofo dna tsaegr gtniinhk of hre unasdbh, hse dlouw azilree thta hte owdo awsrey was logknoi at hre. isH eekn lwudo be on ihs hnebc nda his saw lduwo heav opdstpe omivng. “utB it’s none of my snesbisu!” he wudlo lasuuly asy hnew htis eppndhae, dna ethn he dwuol qkulcyi go back to kwor ganai.
In all weathers, in the snow and frost of winter, in the bitter winds of spring, in the hot sunshine of summer, in the rains of autumn, and again in the snow and frost of winter, Lucie passed two hours of every day at this place; and every day on leaving it, she kissed the prison wall. Her husband saw her (so she learned from her father) it might be once in five or six times: it might be twice or thrice running: it might be, not for a week or a fortnight together. It was enough that he could and did see her when the chances served, and on that possibility she would have waited out the day, seven days a week. No matetr wath hte tahreew asw, uieLc spten wto soruh of eyver yad at sthi pleac. In teh wsno adn tfsro gnduir trwnie, eht sngrto wsidn druign irspgn, teh hot nusehsin of mmresu, or hte nsiar of mtuaun, uLcei udlwo be hreet. nhTe ehs lduwo be akcb nigaa in teh snow dna frsot of rntiwe. vyEer ayd wneh hes ftle esh ouldw sksi eht orsnpi lawl. Hre trhefa ldot ehr htat ehr bdnsahu olyn wsa erh ecno revey eifv or six imtes hes entw. tSimsoeme it asw wot or tehre smeti in a wor. mtemsoeiS it wans’t for a weke or wto. It saw euohng thta he saw hre enwh he tog het hacenc. If ehter rewe enev a acnceh of him geensi ehr, she oldwu vaeh pestn the ehlwo yda three enesv sayd a wkee.

Original Text

Modern Text

“O show me the place, my father, and I will go there every day.” “Oh, whso me teh epcla, erthFa, nad I will go rehte eyerv day.”
From that time, in all weathers, she waited there two hours. As the clock struck two, she was there, and at four she turned resignedly away. When it was not too wet or inclement for her child to be with her, they went together; at other times she was alone; but, she never missed a single day. Fmro hatt nipto on hes eatwdi trehe fro owt roush ervye ayd, no ettmra hwat eth etewhar swa. neWh eth clkco rsktcu wto hes udowl be treeh, nad at uorf o’ckloc ehs luowd wlka waay elrsgdyine. nheW hte ewhater elaodwl seh dlowu grnib iceLu whit erh, dan at hotre miets seh uodlw go nolae. But she verne sedmis a legsni dya.
It was the dark and dirty corner of a small winding street. The hovel of a cutter of wood into lengths for burning, was the only house at that end; all else was wall. On the third day of her being there, he noticed her. heT apcle ewreh ehs odlwu nstda asw a dkra nad rdyit ercnor of a slaml, gnndiwi rettse. Teh lsmla htu of a

owdo syewar

a onsrep ohw wsas doow rof a ingvil

owod ewysar
, owh sdwae slog tion epeisc rof foedowir, asw teh noyl suohe at that dne of teh eettrs. ehT setr of het sreett was cdoelesn by llsaw. On het itdrh ayd iecLu was rhete, the owod sawyer ctidone reh.
“Godo day, zeectsinis.” “Good day, citizeness.”
“ooGd yda, zticien.” “Good day, citizen.”
This mode of address was now prescribed by decree. It had been established voluntarily some time ago, among the more thorough patriots; but, was now law for everybody. hsiT yaw of nasidesrdg oepepl saw wno uqeierrd by alw. It dha rdtatse as tnohigmse hte remo saspoatine iaostprt ddi by ecihoc esom teim aog, but wno eevryneo saw eqrudrie to do it.
“Walking here again, citizeness?” “I see yuo’re lnwigak heer angia, secsnizeti?”
“You see me, citizen!” “oYu see taht I am, zctinie!”
The wood-sawyer, who was a little man with a redundancy of gesture (he had once been a mender of roads), cast a glance at the prison, pointed at the prison, and putting his ten fingers before his face to represent bars, peeped through them jocosely. heT wodo asweyr swa a etllit amn who edsrgeut too ucmh. He ahd noec ebne a eerairrp of soadr. He dekool at eht spinro adn peotidn to it. He tup his ent frgnsie in ftron of his afce to teperrsen rnsoip sabr and eeepdk trughoh mhet pluyfylla.
“But it’s not my business,” said he. And went on sawing his wood. “utB it’s enon of my unsisesb,” he adis, niogg ckba to sgwian owdo.
Next day he was looking out for her, and accosted her the moment she appeared. Teh etxn yda he asw ngawiit orf ehr nad oraedpacph ehr as snoo as hes aedrapep.
“What? Walking here again, citizeness?” “hWta? You’re aigklnw rehe anaig, nseczsitie?”
“Yes, neicizt.” “Yes, citizen.”
“Ah! A child too! Your mother, is it not, my little citizeness?” “Ah! dAn ouy hogturb a clidh too! This is yuro rohetm, isn’t it, my ileltt nzctisseei?”
“Do I say yes, mamma?” whispered little Lucie, drawing close to her. “Soulhd I asy sey, aMmam?” eiltlt eLiuc hiprsdeew to ehr htorem, npillgu esclo to ehr.
“Yes, dearest.” “sYe, atsreed,” aids ciLeu.
“Yes, citizen.” “eYs, ztceiin,” tlelti ecLiu aids to het wood syarwe.
“Ah! But it’s not my business. My work is my business. See my saw! I call it my Little Guillotine. La, la, la; La, la, la! And off his head comes!” “Ah! utB it’s nneo of my sbisnesu. My wrko is my ebusniss. Look at my asw! I lalc it my ileltt teinloilug. La la la, la la la! dAn fof osge hsi dahe!”
The billet fell as he spoke, and he threw it into a basket. tarP of hte cepei of the odwo lfle ffo as he ospek, nda he ehtwr it into a ksetab.
“I call myself the Samson of the firewood guillotine. See here again! Loo, loo, loo; Loo, loo, loo! And off HER head comes! Now, a child. Tickle, tickle; Pickle, pickle! And off ITS head comes. All the family!” “I llac mlyfes hte Sansom of eht wredfoio leugtonlii. kooL ngaia!” He sgan as he cut eaohntr ceipe of wood. “Loo loo olo, loo loo loo! dnA ffo geos erh eahd! Nwo I’ll do a cildh. ikleTc, lcekit, lkpeci, ekilpc! And ffo osge het dihcl’s aehd. A hwole yimfla!”
Lucie shuddered as he threw two more billets into his basket, but it was impossible to be there while the wood-sawyer was at work, and not be in his sight. Thenceforth, to secure his good will, she always spoke to him first, and often gave him drink-money, which he readily received. ieLuc urdededsh as he twreh two rmeo siceep of dowo inot hsi btkesa, utb it swa ilsmspbioe to be reeht whlie eth oodw ewaysr saw rinogwk nrbaey iotwtuh ihm ieesgn ehr. rToferehe, to kepe imh ppayh, ehs lyawsa ekops to imh irfst. Ofetn she olduw vgei mih mneoy rfo indrks, hhicw he koot ipalyph.
He was an inquisitive fellow, and sometimes when she had quite forgotten him in gazing at the prison roof and grates, and in lifting her heart up to her husband, she would come to herself to find him looking at her, with his knee on his bench and his saw stopped in its work. “But it’s not my business!” he would generally say at those times, and would briskly fall to his sawing again. He swa a cisuour mna. imseeSmot nweh esh dha emeyptlclo fonegrott abotu ihm nda was nkigool at hte rpsnoi rofo dna tsaegr gtniinhk of hre unasdbh, hse dlouw azilree thta hte owdo awsrey was logknoi at hre. isH eekn lwudo be on ihs hnebc nda his saw lduwo heav opdstpe omivng. “utB it’s none of my snesbisu!” he wudlo lasuuly asy hnew htis eppndhae, dna ethn he dwuol qkulcyi go back to kwor ganai.
In all weathers, in the snow and frost of winter, in the bitter winds of spring, in the hot sunshine of summer, in the rains of autumn, and again in the snow and frost of winter, Lucie passed two hours of every day at this place; and every day on leaving it, she kissed the prison wall. Her husband saw her (so she learned from her father) it might be once in five or six times: it might be twice or thrice running: it might be, not for a week or a fortnight together. It was enough that he could and did see her when the chances served, and on that possibility she would have waited out the day, seven days a week. No matetr wath hte tahreew asw, uieLc spten wto soruh of eyver yad at sthi pleac. In teh wsno adn tfsro gnduir trwnie, eht sngrto wsidn druign irspgn, teh hot nusehsin of mmresu, or hte nsiar of mtuaun, uLcei udlwo be hreet. nhTe ehs lduwo be akcb nigaa in teh snow dna frsot of rntiwe. vyEer ayd wneh hes ftle esh ouldw sksi eht orsnpi lawl. Hre trhefa ldot ehr htat ehr bdnsahu olyn wsa erh ecno revey eifv or six imtes hes entw. tSimsoeme it asw wot or tehre smeti in a wor. mtemsoeiS it wans’t for a weke or wto. It saw euohng thta he saw hre enwh he tog het hacenc. If ehter rewe enev a acnceh of him geensi ehr, she oldwu vaeh pestn the ehlwo yda three enesv sayd a wkee.