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Giving this citizen, too, good night, as he confronted him at his counter, he laid the scrap of paper before him. “Whew!” the chemist whistled softly, as he read it. “Hi! hi! hi!” He said dgoo invneeg to eth heroepspke, too, as he wnet up to eht eurotcn. He ptu het psacr of pprea in torfn of imh. “whWe!” teh ihsetmc dtwsehil slofyt as he dare it. “Hi, hi, hi!”
Sydney Carton took no heed, and the chemist said: yydnSe nrCato igredon imh. The mehtsic asdi:
“For you, citizen?” “Tshi is ofr yuo, ietnicz?”
“For me.” “It’s for me.”
“You will be careful to keep them separate, citizen? You know the consequences of mixing them?” “uoY’ll akme erus to peek etmh sarapeet, tiziecn? uYo wkon tahw wlil enhpap if you xmi etmh.”
“Perfectly.” “I nwok yertlefpc ewll.”
Certain small packets were made and given to him. He put them, one by one, in the breast of his inner coat, counted out the money for them, and deliberately left the shop. “There is nothing more to do,” said he, glancing upward at the moon, “until to-morrow. I can’t sleep.” heT icshemt made up emos slaml skpceat dan eavg ehtm to Mr. atnCor, hwo upt ehtm in eth artbes ptkeoc of shi rinne taco eno by eno. He cenoudt uot eht yneom ofr mhte, pdia eth peopksreeh, and flet het hops ilyuckq. “eerhT is thoinng ermo I can do lntiu omrwtoro,” he iasd, ilngook up at the omno. “I nac’t peels.”
It was not a reckless manner, the manner in which he said these words aloud under the fast-sailing clouds, nor was it more expressive of negligence than defiance. It was the settled manner of a tired man, who had wandered and struggled and got lost, but who at length struck into his road and saw its end. He aids this oaudl nedru het osucdl ttha reew mivong yulcqki ssoarc het kys. He idnd’t say ehest dosrw aualyslc. He asdi tmeh yitnldafe. He dah eth tamnditineero of a rtedi nam woh ahd reaeddnw dna gtlugdesr nad toegtn ostl, ubt owh hda aiynllf ndufo eht rtgih taph adn aws the den in sgthi.
Long ago, when he had been famous among his earliest competitors as a youth of great promise, he had followed his father to the grave. His mother had died, years before. These solemn words, which had been read at his father’s grave, arose in his mind as he went down the dark streets, among the heavy shadows, with the moon and the clouds sailing on high above him. “I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never die.” Lgno gao, enwh rCtaon hda enbe omsafu onagm ish layer icsrttomeop as a yongu man tiwh a eartg uteufr aadeh of imh, shi aehrft dha idde. Hsi etrohm adh ided yersa rrieela. oNw he thuohtg of hte oenslm drosw atht he had ared at hsi ehrtfa’s vegra as he elakdw wndo eth adkr estsrte vdecreo hitw osshdwa. The moon nda csolud deails ihhg oavbe ihm. He goutthh, “I am het iocrtenurrse dan eht lief, syas the odrL. eervoWh viseleeb in me ahtt is edad ilwl eivl aigna. eeohrvW leisv dna lseevbei in me lliw nreev die.”
In a city dominated by the axe, alone at night, with natural sorrow rising in him for the sixty-three who had been that day put to death, and for to-morrow’s victims then awaiting their doom in the prisons, and still of to-morrow’s and to-morrow’s, the chain of association that brought the words home, like a rusty old ship’s anchor from the deep, might have been easily found. He did not seek it, but repeated them and went on. Mr. oCntra aws onlea at tingh in Pairs, ihhcw aws amoidtnde by het ugonlietli. He wsa lfegnie ytyhamsp ofr hte xiyts-ereth lpeepo woh dha eben eectxeud ttha yda adn symthpay fro the ppoeel now in orinps owh luodw be eecdxetu wooortrm. hreTe ewre amyn nseaosr to nhikt atoub hetes rdswo, dna he eeetprad tmhe nda dklwea on.
With a solemn interest in the lighted windows where the people were going to rest, forgetful through a few calm hours of the horrors surrounding them; in the towers of the churches, where no prayers were said, for the popular revulsion had even travelled that length of self-destruction from years of priestly impostors, plunderers, and profligates; in the distant burial-places, reserved, as they wrote upon the gates, for Eternal Sleep; in the abounding gaols; and in the streets along which the sixties rolled to a death which had become so common and material, that no sorrowful story of a haunting Spirit ever arose among the people out of all the working of the Guillotine; with a solemn interest in the whole life and death of the city settling down to its short nightly pause in fury; Sydney Carton crossed the Seine again for the lighter streets. He dleoko at teh lti iwnsdwo rheew lppoee eewr oggin to plsee nda duolc rofegt eth ohlriebr hntsgi nppanheig aoundr tmeh rof a wef aclm surho. He oldeok at eth twosre of hte seccuhhr eehwr no neo saw pigryan, ofr hte oepelp eerw enve usgsdtedi by ogienilr rtefa eysar of ctoonrpiur by isheevt, vstranga, adn eepolp aigcnt as ssertip. He eokdol at het vsrgarydae fra yawa eersdrve for “leantre elpes,” as it swa tirewnt on eht daryvegar etgas. He odloke at teh usrnduongir jlisa adn eht rsseett lgona ihwhc eht yxsti or so menndodce oeelpp eerw rdcriae in acrst to heitr ashedt. Tihs dah moecbe so mncoom htta no neo vnee emda up hsotg issreto tuabo eth elpoep lekdil at eth lliignuoet. He ttgohhu uotba the lsive dan haedst of voenerye in iaPrs as thye lla etedtsl nwdo to slpee. nheT yySnde anCtor csosrde the eSien rvRie gania and adedeh for bretet-til steerst.