Election Day is November 3rd! Make sure your voice is heard

A Tale of Two Cities

Charles Dickens
No Fear Book 3 Chapter 9
No Fear Book 3 Chapter 9: The Game Made: Page 5

Original Text

Modern Text

“Yes,” said Carton. “I am not old, but my young way was never the way to age. Enough of me.” “Yes,” said Carton. “I am not old, but my youthful behavior was not a good way to age. Enough about me.”
“And of me, I am sure,” said Mr. Lorry. “Are you going out?” “And enough about me,” said Mr. Lorry. “Are you going out?”
“I’ll walk with you to her gate. You know my vagabond and restless habits. If I should prowl about the streets a long time, don’t be uneasy; I shall reappear in the morning. You go to the Court to-morrow?” “I’ll walk with you to Lucie’s gate. You know my wandering and restless habits. If I roam the streets for a long time, don’t worry. I will come back in the morning. You are going to the court tomorrow?”
“Yes, unhappily.” “Yes, unfortunately.”
“I shall be there, but only as one of the crowd. My Spy will find a place for me. Take my arm, sir.” “I’ll be there, but only as a member of the crowd. Barsad will find a place for me. Take my arm, sir.”
Mr. Lorry did so, and they went down-stairs and out in the streets. A few minutes brought them to Mr. Lorry’s destination. Carton left him there; but lingered at a little distance, and turned back to the gate again when it was shut, and touched it. He had heard of her going to the prison every day. “She came out here,” he said, looking about him, “turned this way, must have trod on these stones often. Let me follow in her steps.” Mr. Lorry took his arm, and they went downstairs and out into the streets. In a few minutes they were at Mr. Lorry’s destination. Carton left him there, but he waited a little ways off. When the gate was shut again he went back and touched it. He had heard that Lucie went to stand outside the prison every day. “She came out here,” he said, looking around him. “She turned this way. She must have walked on these cobblestones often. Let me follow her steps.”
It was ten o’clock at night when he stood before the prison of La Force, where she had stood hundreds of times. A little wood-sawyer, having closed his shop, was smoking his pipe at his shop-door. It was ten o’clock at night when he arrived in front of La Force Prison, where she had stood hundreds of times. A little wood sawyer had closed up his shop and was smoking his pipe in the shop door.
“Good night, citizen,” said Sydney Carton, pausing in going by; for, the man eyed him inquisitively. “Good evening, citizen,” said Sydney Carton. He paused as he went by, for the man was looking at him curiously.
“Good night, citizen.” “Good evening, citizen.”
“How goes the Republic?” “How’s the Republic doing?”
“You mean the Guillotine. Not ill. Sixty-three to-day. We shall mount to a hundred soon. Samson and his men complain sometimes, of being exhausted. Ha, ha, ha! He is so droll, that Samson. Such a Barber!” “You mean the guillotine. Not bad. Sixty-three people killed today. We will make it to a hundred soon. The executioner, Samson, and his men complain sometimes of being exhausted. Ha, ha, ha! He’s funny, that Samson. Such a barber wielding our National Razor!”
“Do you often go to see him—” “Do you go to see executions at the guillotine very often?”
“Shave? Always. Every day. What a barber! You have seen him at work?” “Do I see people getting ‘a shave’? Always. Every day. He’s quite the barber. You’ve seen him at work?”
“Never.” “Never.”
“Go and see him when he has a good batch. Figure this to yourself, citizen; he shaved the sixty-three to-day, in less than two pipes! Less than two pipes. Word of honour!” “Go and see him when he has a good group of prisoners. Think about this, citizen. He killed sixty-three people today, in less time than it took me to smoke two pipes. Less than two pipes! I swear!”
As the grinning little man held out the pipe he was smoking, to explain how he timed the executioner, Carton was so sensible of a rising desire to strike the life out of him, that he turned away. The grinning little man held out the pipe he was smoking to show how he had timed the executioner. Carton wanted to beat the man to death so badly that he turned away from him.
“But you are not English,” said the wood-sawyer, “though you wear English dress?” “But you are not English, although you dress like an Englishman?” asked the wood sawyer.”
“Yes,” said Carton, pausing again, and answering over his shoulder. “Yes,” said Carton. He paused again and answered over his shoulder.
“You speak like a Frenchman.” “You speak like a Frenchman.”
“I am an old student here.” “I studied a long time here.”
“Aha, a perfect Frenchman! Good night, Englishman.” “Ah-ha, you’re like a perfect Frenchman! Good night, Englishman.”
“Good night, citizen.” “Good night, citizen.”
“But go and see that droll dog,” the little man persisted, calling after him. “And take a pipe with you!” “But go and see the executioner,” the little man continued, yelling after him. “And take a pipe with you!”
Sydney had not gone far out of sight, when he stopped in the middle of the street under a glimmering lamp, and wrote with his pencil on a scrap of paper. Then, traversing with the decided step of one who remembered the way well, several dark and dirty streets—much dirtier than usual, for the best public thoroughfares remained uncleansed in those times of terror—he stopped at a chemist’s shop, which the owner was closing with his own hands. A small, dim, crooked shop, kept in a tortuous, up-hill thoroughfare, by a small, dim, crooked man. Sydney had not gone far out of sight when he stopped in the middle of the street under a shining streetlamp. He wrote something down in pencil on a scrap of paper, then walked through several dark and dirty streets with the confidence of a man who remembered the way well. The streets were dirtier than usual, as even the best roads weren’t cleaned during those violent times. He stopped at a chemist’s shop, which was just closing up. The shop was located on a main road that went up a steep hill. It was small, dark, and crooked, and a small, dark, and crooked man owned it.