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2020-08-13 14:07:52  Դձ
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ٶַ:a g 9 559 v i p<`Very willingly,' said the mender of roads. Whom Defarge escorted to the top of the stairs, and, leaving seated there, returned.`I believe,' returned Doctor Manette, `that there had been a strong and extraordinary revival of the train of thought and remembrance that was the first cause of the malady. Some intense associations of a most distressing nature were vividly recalled, I think. It is probable that there had long been a dread lurking in his mind, that those associations would be recalled--say, under certain circumstances--say, on a particular occasion. He tried to prepare himself in vain; perhaps the effort to prepare himself made him less able to bear it.'

`I am.'

ٶ廭

`It's the wisest thing to expect, and the likeliest. But I think their withdrawing is in your favour.

`Do you make a show of Monsieur Manette?'

`Why does he make that abominable noise? Is it his child?'

ٶ ɻ

`You think there never might have been a Mrs. Lorry?' asked the gentleman of that name.

Miss Pross, with a terrified face, was at his ear. `O me, O me! All is lost!' cried she, wringing her hands. `What is to be told to Ladybird? He doesn't know me, and is making shoes!'

ٶйҶ ۻ

`Monsieur Manette;' Mr. Lorry laid his hand upon Defarge's arm; `do you remember nothing of this man? Look at him. Look at me. Is there no old banker, no old business, no old servant, no old time, rising in your mind, Monsieur Manette?'

`Jacques,' returned Defarge, drawing himself up, `if madame my wife undertook to keep the register in her memory alone, she would not lose a word of it--not a syllable of it. Knitted, in her own stitches and her own symbols, it will always be as plain to her as the sun. Confide in Madame Defarge. It would be easier for the weakest poltroon that lives, to erase himself from existence, than to erase one letter of his name or crimes from the knitted register of Madame Defarge.'

`I wish it, that I may the better deserve your confidence, and have no secret from you.

ٶͻ

<`I think so, Carton, by this time.'`In England, for example?'

It was but the inquiry of his first confusion and astonishment, the answer being obvious. If the impression were not produced by a real corresponding and sufficient cause, how came he, Jarvis Lorry, there? How came he to have fallen asleep, in his clothes, on the sofa in Dr. Manette's consulting-room, and to be debating these points outside the Doctor's bedroom door in the early morning?

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ٶԬΰ201945ҳ⹫Ԣס ҵϴƼӾ `But he has been-been found. He is alive. Greatly changed, it is too probable; almost a wreck, it is possible; though we will hope the best. Still, alive. Your father has been taken to the house of an old servant in Paris, and we are going there: I, to identify him if I can: you, to restore him to life, love, duty, rest, comfort.' ϸ

۾״ߵͽͨ籨ŵ֯5˱| ̵2018|һڡǡۣʤȫС

ٶЦŮְҪײˣ˾һ󺰡 His son obeyed, and the crowd approached; they were bawling and hissing round a dingy hearse and dingy mourning coach, in which mourning coach there was only one mourner, dressed in the dingy trappings that were considered essential to the dignity of the position. The position appeared by no means to please him, however, with an increasing rabble surrounding the coach, deriding him, making grimaces at him, and incessantly groaning and calling out: `Yah! Spies! Tst! Yaha! Spies!' with many compliments too numerous and forcible to repeat. ϸ

ٶӡ׹80Ͽ¹ʣ2813| ̵2018|ǡߡ,ȸƻ¼
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