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spectacle is well worth looking at), and at first, as they approach, I
see no more than that they are six soldiers with a tall man bound,
and that they are almost black to my sight-except on the side of the
sun going to bed, where they have a red edge, messieurs. Also, I
see that their long shadows are on the hollow ridge on the opposite
side of the road, and are on the hill above it, and are like the
shadows of giants. Also, I see that they are covered with dust, and
that the dust moves with them as they come, tramp, tramp! But
when they advance quite near to me, I recognise the tall man, and
he recognises me. Ah, but he would be well content to precipitate
himself over the hill-side once again, as on the evening when he
and I first encountered, close to the same spot!” He described it as
if he were there, and it was evident that he saw it vividly; perhaps
he had not seen much in his life.

“I do not show the soldiers that I recognise the tall man; he does
not show the soldiers that he recognises me; we do it, and we know
it, with our eyes. ‘Come on!’ says the chief of that company,
pointing to the village, ‘bring him fast to his tomb!’ and they bring
him faster. I follow. His arms are swelled because of being bound
so tight, his wooden shoes are large and clumsy, and he is lame.
Because he is lame, and consequently slow, they drive him with
their guns-like this!” He imitated the action of a man’s being
impelled forward by the butt-ends of muskets.

“As they descend the hill like madmen running a race, he falls.
They laugh and pick him up again. His face is bleeding and
covered with dust, but he cannot touch it; thereupon they laugh
again. They bring him into the village; all the village runs to look;
they take him past the mill, and up to the prison; all the village sees
the prison gate open in the darkness of the night, and swallow
him-like this!” He opened his mouth as wide as he could, and shut
it with a sounding snap of his teeth. Observant of his unwillingness
to mar the effect by opening it again, Defarge said, “Go on,

“All the village,” pursued the mender of roads, on tiptoe and in a
low voice, “withdraws; all the village whispers by the fountain; all
the village sleeps; all the village dreams of that unhappy one,
within the locks and bars of the prison on the crag, and never to
come out of it, except to perish. In the morning, with my tools upon
my shoulder, eating my morsel of black bread as I go, I make a
circuit by the prison, on my way to my work. There I see him, high
up, behind the bars of a lofty iron cage, bloody and dusty as last
night, looking through. He has no hand free, to wave to me; I dare
not call to him; he regards me like a dead man.” Defarge and the
three glanced darkly at one another. The looks of all of them were
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