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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.
Few coaches were abroad, for riders in coaches were liable to be
suspected, and gentility hid its head in red nightcaps, and put on
heavy shoes, and trudged.

But, the theatres were all well filled, and the people poured
cheerfully out as he passed, and went chatting home. At one of the
theatre doors, there was a little girl with a mother, looking for a
way across the street through the mud. He carried the child over,
and before the timid arm was loosed from his neck asked her for a

“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.” Now, that the streets
were quiet, and the night wore on, the words were in the echoes of
his feet, and were in the air. Perfectly calm and steady, he
sometimes repeated them to himself as he walked; but, he heard
them always.

The night wore out, and, as he stood upon the bridge listening to
the water as it splashed the river-walls of the Island of Paris, where
the picturesque confusion of houses and cathedral shone bright in
the light of the moon, the day came coldly, looking like a dead face
out of the sky. Then, the night, with the moon and the stars, turned
pale and died, and for a little while it seemed as if Creation were
delivered over to Death’s dominion.

But, the glorious sun, rising, seemed to strike those words, that
burden of the night, straight and warm to his heart in its long
bright rays. And looking along them, with reverently shaded eyes,
a bridge of light appeared to span the air between him and the sun,
while the river sparkled under it.

The strong tide, so swift, so deep, and certain, was like a congenial
friend, in the morning stillness He walked by the stream, far from
the houses, and in the light and warmth of the sun fell asleep on
the bank. When he awoke and was afoot again, he lingered there
yet a little longer, watching an eddy that turned and turned
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