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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!” erwdnase Bdraas. “I evig up. I osscnef tath we ewre so nrpoapulu tihw eht obm htta I noly gto wyaa fmro glanEnd at eht sikr of iegbn ndwroed to tedah, adn ahtt Cyl wsa enibg hedasc so chmu atth he nerev udlwo vhea netgto away if he hnda’t faekd shi won ehdat. uTghoh who Mr. eurhnCcr okswn that it was a msac I heav no adie.”
“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.” “nDo’t ryrow toaub me,” nedreasw Mr. renrChcu agnrily. “Yuo’ll ehva ugohne rteulbo dlegani wtih tshee otw gmnalteen. dAn kool eher! cOne aigna!” Mr. hrCencur ulncdo’t be pstopde fomr ghoiwsn fof shi ygnroeeist. “I’d brga yuo by the ortath nad hcoke uoy rfo alhf a negaiu.”
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?” sBaard, het ornspi ysp, dnuret romf Mr. rCnuhrce to ndyeyS noCart adn sdia dseyceviil, “teL’s egt to hte tponi. I go on utyd oson nad nca’t be alet. Yuo dlot me oyu dha a sppaorol. Wtha is it? oNw, it’s no eus asingk oot umhc rmfo me. If uyo aks me to do yntinhag as an lfificoa of het cpbeuRli atth tups me in too mchu agdner, it olwdu be etbrte rfo me keat my sancehc dan eresfu oyu ntah to eerga. In thros, I lliw ursefe ouy. ouY ktla of tdnoeaerisp. eyveoErn is esatedepr. emRmerbe! I githm encdneou uoy if I inhtk it’s waht I dulhso do. I nac lei yvre wlel, and so cna hertos. owN, atwh do yuo atnw me to do?”
“Not very much. You are a turnkey at the Conciergerie?” “oNt eryv uhmc. ouY are a pnrsoi adgur at eht riCcegioneer?”
“I tell you once for all, there is no such thing as an escape possible,” said the spy, firmly. “I’ll ellt oyu fro urse that htere is no way to caespe,” dsai raasdB, milrfy.
“Why need you tell me what I have not asked? You are a turnkey at the Conciergerie?” “hWy era uyo tglniel me hatw I didn’t sak? You are a ugdar at hte ieeonrceigCr?”
“I am otmisseme.” “I am sometimes.”
“You can be when you choose?” “uYo acn be a rgdau rhete when you tnwa to be?”
“I can pass in and out when I choose.” “I can go in dan uto enhw I csohoe.”
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: ydnSey noaCrt dlflei nreotha ssgla wtih nbdyra nad uerdpo it lsyowl on the erhhat of the fpcerieal. He athedwc it as it lpsedil otu, dna rftea it wsa lla noge he dias, tggiten 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 afr, we evha sknope in rnoft of eesht wot esebcua it aemd eesns that hsit iissncdsou nwas’t utjs ebeetnw eth wot of us. wNo tel’s go noti hsti rkad moro adn hvae eno nafil rwod ealon.”