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hand on his account; and then re-crossed the road and entered the

wine-shop.

This wine-shop keeper was a bull-necked, martial-looking man

of thirty, and he should have been of a hot temperament, for,

although it was a bitter day, he wore no coat, but carried one slung

over his shoulder. His shirt-sleeves were rolled up, too, and his

brown arms were bare to the elbows. Neither did he wear

anything more on his head than his own crisply-curling short dark

hair. He was a dark man altogether, with good eyes and a good

bold breadth between them. Good-humoured looking on the

whole, but implacable-looking, too; evidently a man of a strong

resolution and a set purpose; a man not desirable to be met,

rushing down a narrow pass with a gulf on either side, for nothing

would turn the man.

Madame Defarge, his wife, sat in the shop behind the counter

as he came in. Madame Defarge was a stout woman of about his

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

own age, with a watchful eye that seldom seemed to look at

anything, a large hand heavily ringed, a steady face, strong

features, and great composure of manner. There was a character

about Madame Defarge from which one might have predicted that

she did not often make mistakes against herself in any of the

reckonings over which she presided. Madame Defarge being

sensitive to cold, was wrapp