A Tale of Two Cities

by Charles Dickens

Foulon, who told the famished people that they might eat grass, and who died, and went to Hell?"

now, on his way to the Hotel de Ville, a prisoner.

Vengeance, uttering terrific shrieks,

screaming, Foulon alive!

Foulon who told my old father that he might eat grass, when I had no bread to give him!

these breasts where dry ...

Foulon was at the Hotel de Ville,

the son-in-law of the despatched, another of the people's enemies

Scanty and insufficient suppers those, and innocent of meat,

human fellowship infused some nourishment into the flinty viands,

ruined country, yielding nothing but desolation.

Everything was bowed down, dejected, oppressed, and broken.

change consisted in the appearance of strange faces of low caste,

rather than in the disappearance of the high caste,

Monsieur Gabelle, chief functionary of the place, became uneasy;

The mender of roads, and two hundred and fifty particular friends, stood with folded arms at the fountain, looking at the pillar of fire in the sky.

chateau is on fire;

Help, help!"

officers looked towards the soldiers who looked at the fi...

"It must ...

mender of roads, and the two hundred and fifty particular friends, inspired as one man and woman by the idea of lighting up, had darted into their houses, and were putting candles in every dull little pane of glass.

scarcity of everything, occasioned candles to be borrowed in a rather peremptory manner of Monsieur Gabelle;

chateau was left to itself to flame and burn.

The illuminated village had seized hold of the tocsin, and, abolishing the lawful ringer, rang for joy.

Monsieur Gabelle

was a small Southern man of retaliative temperament),

people happily dispersed, and Monsieur Gabelle came down bringing his life with him for that while.

Three more birthdays of little Lucie had been woven by the golden thread into the peaceful tissue of the life of her home.

he took to his noble heels.

Royalty was gone;

thousand seven hundred and ninety-two

head-quarters and great gathering-place of Monseigneur, in London, was Tellson's Bank.

Tellson's was a munificent house,

disorganised city,

Tellson's, whose bread I have eaten these sixty years—

take Jerry. Jerry has been my bodyguard

Stryver, of the King's Bench Bar, far on his way to state promotion,

Monsieur heretofore the Marquis St. Evremonde, of France.

Doctor Manette had made it his one urgent and express request to Charles Darnay, that the secret of this name should be—unless he, the Doctor, dissolved the obligation—kept inviolate between them. Nobody else knew it to be his name; his own wife had no suspicion of the fact; Mr. Lorry could have none.

"Nephew,

of the polished Marquis who was murdered,"

a man who instructs youth knows him?

"Gabelle."

Monsieur Gabelle had held the impoverished and involved estate on written instructions, to spare the people, to give them what little there was to give—

This favoured the desperate resolution Charles Darnay had begun to make,

was the fourteenth of August—

Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, or Death.

The "sharp female newly-born, and called La Guillotine,"

prison of La Force.

"The Emigrant Evremonde."