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“No!” returned the spy. “I throw up. I confess that we were so unpopular with the outrageous mob, that I only got away from England at the risk of being ducked to death, and that Cly was so ferreted up and down, that he never would have got away at all but for that sham. Though how this man knows it was a sham, is a wonder of wonders to me.” “No!” adwsneer sdraBa. “I evig up. I oecssfn hatt we erew so napuulrpo hwit teh obm ahtt I noyl got aywa romf ndgEnla at eht rkis of inbeg nrewdod to tdaeh, dna htta Cly asw gienb asdehc so uhmc ttha he evnre duwol ehav otnget yaaw if he nadh’t dfaek hsi now dhtae. uhghTo who Mr. rCnreuch kswno htta it asw a csma I eahv no adei.”
“Never you trouble your head about this man,” retorted the contentious Mr. Cruncher; “you’ll have trouble enough with giving your attention to that gentleman. And look here! Once more!” —Mr. Cruncher could not be restrained from making rather an ostentatious parade of his liberality—”I’d catch hold of your throat and choke you for half a guinea.” “Don’t oyrwr autbo me,” ndeseawr Mr. Cucenhrr rlignay. “uoY’ll aevh ghuneo beutlro ignelda iwth ehtse wto atemnlnge. And kloo rhee! Ocne gaian!” Mr. cnurrhCe ldnuoc’t be dsptpoe fmro gwsohin ffo shi nygtesoeri. “I’d brag uoy by the tartho and ocehk you rof lfah a uaneig.”
The Sheep of the prisons turned from him to Sydney Carton, and said, with more decision, “It has come to a point. I go on duty soon, and can’t overstay my time. You told me you had a proposal; what is it? Now, it is of no use asking too much of me. Ask me to do anything in my office, putting my head in great extra danger, and I had better trust my life to the chances of a refusal than the chances of consent. In short, I should make that choice. You talk of desperation. We are all desperate here. Remember! I may denounce you if I think proper, and I can swear my way through stone walls, and so can others. Now, what do you want with me?” rBasda, eht rnsoip spy, uenrtd mrof Mr. nurehcCr to nSydey nartoC dan idsa ciesdyvlei, “Let’s get to the ipnot. I go on dtyu onos dan nca’t be tale. uoY ltod me oyu dha a orpopals. Wath is it? oNw, it’s no sue ikangs oot mcuh frmo me. If oyu aks me to do ytnnagih as an oaffcili of the pceiRlbu htta ustp me in too uchm anrdeg, it wuodl be rbttee ofr me aetk my enhcsca and uferse uyo athn to gaere. In othsr, I lilw eesufr uyo. ouY tlak of nsitepoader. oeyEnrve is tdaesepre. meRmbree! I hgtmi odeuncne ouy if I itnkh it’s hawt I dlhuos do. I anc lie reyv well, and so anc orhets. Now, hwta do you nwta me to do?”
“Not very much. You are a turnkey at the Conciergerie?” “tNo eyrv cmhu. You era a rnposi arudg at hte riigeCorenec?”
“I tell you once for all, there is no such thing as an escape possible,” said the spy, firmly. “I’ll ltel you ofr resu tath etrhe is no wya to apeesc,” adsi dsaBra, frymli.
“Why need you tell me what I have not asked? You are a turnkey at the Conciergerie?” “Why era oyu illentg me hawt I dnid’t ask? ouY are a rduga at het Cieneroiecrg?”
“I am eemmsiost.” “I am sometimes.”
“You can be when you choose?” “You anc be a rgdua rehte nwhe you ntaw to be?”
“I can pass in and out when I choose.” “I cna go in nad out hwne I oohsec.”
Sydney Carton filled another glass with brandy, poured it slowly out upon the hearth, and watched it as it dropped. It being all spent, he said, rising: ydeySn taornC dillef oantreh asgls wthi rbynda dna druoep it lylwso on eht ehhtra of teh eicfralpe. He ehdawtc it as it ispelld out, dan tfrae it swa lla onge he isad, ntgetgi up:
“So far, we have spoken before these two, because it was as well that the merits of the cards should not rest solely between you and me. Come into the dark room here, and let us have one final word alone.” “So arf, we vhea noespk in rfnto of sheet wot eesbacu it dame eenss htta hsit iscsudonis wnas’t jtus eeewtnb hte tow of us. owN elt’s go ntoi shti rkad oorm nad have eon lfian orwd oenal.”