a woman’s. “See, there is my husband!” she cried, pointing him

out. “See Defarge!” She stood immovable close to the grim old

officer, and remained immovable close to him; remained

immovable close to him through the streets, as Defarge and the

rest bore him along; remained immovable close to him when he

was got near his destination, and began to be struck at from

behind; remained immovable close to him when the longgathering

rain of stabs and blows fell heavy; was so close to him

when he dropped dead under it, that, suddenly animated, she put

her foot upon his neck, and with her cruel knifelong ready

hewed off his head.

The hour was come when Saint Antoine was to execute his

horrible idea of hoisting up men for lamps to show what he could

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

be and do. Saint Antoine’s blood was up, and the blood of tyranny

and domination by the iron hand was downdown on the steps of

the Hotel de Ville where the governor’s body laydown on the

sole of the shoe of Madame Defarge where she had trodden on the

body to steady it for mutilation. “Lower the lamp yonder!” cried

Saint Antoine, after glaring round for a new means of death; “here

is one of his soldiers to be left on guard!” The swinging sentinel

was posted, and the sea rushed on.

The sea of black and threatening waters, and of destructive

uphea