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SYDNEY CARTON paused in the street, not quite decided where
to go. “At Tellson’s banking-house at nine,” he said, with a musing
face. “Shall I do well, in the mean time, to show myself? I think so.
It is best that these people should know there is such a man as I
here; it is a sound precaution, and may be a necessary preparation.
But care, care, Let me think it out!” Checking his steps which had
begun to tend towards an object, he took a turn or two in the
already darkening street, and traced the thought in his mind to its
possible consequences. His first impression was confirmed. “It is
best,” he said, finally resolved, “that these people should know
there is such a man as I here.” And he turned his face towards
Saint Antoine.

Defarge had described himself, that day, as the keeper of a wine-
shop in the Saint Antoine suburb. It was not difficult for one who
knew the city well, to find his house without asking any question.
Having ascertained its situation, Carton came out of those closer
streets again, and dined at a place of refreshment and fell sound
asleep after dinner. For the first time in many years, he had no
strong drink. Since last night he had taken nothing but a little light
thin wine, and last night he had dropped the brandy slowly down
on Mr. Lorry’s hearth like a man who had done with it.

It was as late as seven o’clock when he awoke refreshed, and went
out into the streets again. As he passed along towards Saint
Antoine, he stopped at a shopwindow where there was a mirror,
and slightly altered the disordered arrangement of his loose cravat,
and his coat-collar, and his wild hair. This done, he went on direct
to Defarge’s, and went in.

There happened to be no customer in the shop but Jacques Three,
of the restless fingers and the croaking voice. This man, whom he
had seen upon the Jury, stood drinking at the little counter, in
conversation with the Defarges, man and wife. The Vengeance
assisted in the conversation, like a regular member of the

As Carton walked in, took his seat and asked (in very indifferent
French) for a small measure of wine, Madame Defarge cast a
careless glance at him, and then a keener, and then a keener, and
then advanced to him herself, and asked him what it was he had

He repeated what he had already said.
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