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was a flutter among the military lanterns, and one of them being
handed into the coach by an arm in uniform, the eyes connected
with the arm looked, not an every day or an every night look, at
monsieur with the white head. “It is well. Forward!” from the
uniform. “Adieu!” from Defarge. And so, under a short grove of
feebler and feebler over-swinging lamps, out under the great grove
of stars.

Beneath that arch of unmoved and eternal lights; some, so remote
from this little earth that the learned tell us it is doubtful whether
their rays have even yet discovered it, as a point in space where
anything is suffered or done: the shadows of the night were broad
and black. All through the cold and restless interval, until dawn,
they once more whispered in the ears of Mr. Jarvis Lorry-sitting
opposite the buried man who had been dug out, and wondering
what subtle powers were for ever lost to him, and what were
capable of restoration-the old inquiry:
“I hope you care to be recalled to life?” And the old answer:
“I can’t say.” -
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