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them, and the men at the windows had not yet swooped into the
Hall, like birds of prey from their high perches-when the cry
seemed to go up, all over the city, “Bring him out! Bring him to the
lamp!” Down, and up, and head foremost on the steps of the
building; now, on his knees; now, on his feet; now, on his back;
dragged, and struck at, and stifled by the bunches of grass and
straw that were thrust into his face by hundreds of hands; torn,
bruised, panting, bleeding, yet always entreating and beseeching
for mercy; now full of vehement agony of action, with a small clear
space about him as the people drew one another back that they
might see; now, a log of dead wood drawn through a forest of legs;
he was hauled to the nearest street corner where one of the fatal
lamps swung, and there Madame Defarge let him go-as a cat
might have done to a mouse-and silently and composedly looked
at him while they made ready, and while he besought her: the
women passionately screeching at him all the time, and the men
sternly calling out to have him killed with grass in his mouth.
Once, he went aloft, and the rope broke, and they caught him
shrieking; twice, he went aloft, and the rope broke, and they
caught him shrieking; then, the rope was merciful, and held him,
and his head was soon upon a pike, with grass enough in the
mouth for all Saint Antoine to dance at the sight of.

Nor was this the end of the day’s bad work, for Saint Antoine so
shouted and danced his angry blood up, that it boiled again, on
hearing when the day closed in that the son-in-law of the
despatched, another of the people’s enemies and insulters, was
coming into Paris under a guard five hundred strong, in cavalry

Saint Antoine wrote his crimes on flaring sheets of paper, seized
him-would have torn him out of the breast of an army to bear
Foulon company-set his head and heart on pikes, and carried the
three spoils of the day, in Wolf-procession through the streets.

Not before dark night did the men and women come back to the
children, wailing and breadless. Then, the miserable bakers’ shops
were beset by long files of them, patiently waiting to buy bad
bread; and while they waited with stomachs faint and empty, they
beguiled the time by embracing one another on the triumphs of the
day, and achieving them again in gossip. Gradually, these strings
of ragged people shortened and frayed away; and then poor lights
began to shine in high windows, and slender fires were made in
the streets, at which neighbours cooked in common, afterwards
supping at their doors.

Scanty and insufficient suppers those, and innocent of meat, as of
most other sauce to wretched bread. Yet, human fellowship infused
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