heryour wife, dear Darnay.”

The prisoner wrung his hand.

“I bring you a request from her.”

“What is it?”

“A most earnest, pressing, and emphatic entreaty, addressed to

you in the most pathetic tones of the voice so dear to you, that you

well remember.”

The prisoner turned his face partly aside.

“You have no time to ask me why I bring it, or what it means; I

have no time to tell you. You must comply with ittake off those

boots you wear, and draw on these of mine.”

There was a chair against the wall of the cell, behind the

prisoner. Carton, pressing forward, had already, with the speed of

lightning, got him down into it, and stood over him, barefoot.

“Draw on these boots of mine. Put your hands to them; put

your will to them. Quick!”

“Carton, there is no escaping from this place; it never can be

done. You will only die with me. It is madness.”

“It would be madness if I asked you to escape; but do I? When I

ask you to pass out at that door, tell me it is madness and remain

here. Change that cravat for this of mine, that coat for this of mine.

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

While you do it. let me take this ribbon from your hair, and shake

out your hair like this of mine!”

With wonderful quickness, and with a strength both of will and

action, that appeared quite supernatural, he forced all these

changes upon him. The prisoner was like a young child in his

hands.

“Carton! Dear Carton! It is madness. It cannot be

accomplished, it never can be done, it has been attempted, and

has always failed. I implore you not to add your death to the

bitterness of mine.”

“Do I ask you, my dear Darnay, to pass the door? When I ask

that, refuse. There are pen and ink and paper on this table. Is your

hand steady enough to write?”

“It was when you came in.”

“Steady it again, and write what I shall dictate. Quick, friend,

quick!”

Pressing his hand to his bewildered head, Darnay sat down at

the table. Carton, with his right hand in his breast, stood close

beside him.

“Write exactly as I speak.”

“To whom do I address it?”

“To no one.” Carton still had his hand in his breast.

“Do I date it?”

“No.”

The prisoner looked up, at each question. Carton standing over

him with his hand in his breast, looked down.

“‘If you remember,’” said Carton, dictating, “‘the words that

passed between us, long ago, you will readily comprehend this