Chapter 39 Chapter Seven Knock on the Door

"I've got him out." It wasn't a dream from which he often woke up, he was actually at home.But his wife was still trembling, and haunted by a heavy, inexplicable fear. The air around is thick and dark, people are fanatical and eager for revenge, and innocent people are constantly being killed because of false suspicion and malicious slander.It cannot be forgotten that every day misfortune happens to many as innocent and loved as her husband, who only narrowly escaped.So although she felt that she should relax, she couldn't relax.In the winter afternoon, the shadow of night has gradually descended, but there are still people's death carts rumbling through the street.Her heart followed him unknowingly, looking for him in the crowd of people sentenced to death, so she hugged his real body tighter and trembled more violently.

To amuse her, her father displayed a sort of condescending sympathy for her feminine weakness, which was amusing.Now there are no more attics, shoe work, and North Tower 105!He accomplished the task he had set for himself, fulfilled his promise, and rescued Charles.Let them all depend on him! They lived in extreme austerity, not only because that was the safest and least repugnant way of life, but also because they were not rich.Throughout his imprisonment, Charles had to pay guard fees, buy cheap food at high prices, and support poorer fellow prisoners.For the above reasons, and also because they did not want to have a spy in the family, they did not employ anyone.Two citizens, a man and a woman who acted as porters at the gate, sometimes helped them.Jerry became their daily footman, and slept there every night—Mr. Lorry had put him all at their disposal.

One and indivisible republic of liberty, equality, fraternity, or death has a rule that the name of every resident of the household shall be clearly written on the door or post of every house in letters large enough to be legible.And so Mr. Cruncher's name glorified on the door-post downstairs.The man with that name appeared as the twilight grew that afternoon.He had just supervised the addition of "Charles Evermond, aka Darnay" to the list by a painter brought in by Dr. Manette. Under the shadow of the general terror and suspicion that hung over the age, the harmless routine of everyday life was altered.Like many families, the doctor's small family buys small quantities of daily necessities in various small shops at night.People don't want to attract attention, try to avoid gossip or envy.

For many months Miss Pross and Mr. Cruncher were on purchasing errands.The former with money and the latter with a basket, set out each afternoon around the time the street lights came on to buy household necessities.Miss Pross, who had been with a French family for many years, might have learned their language as well as her own if she had been willing, but she had no intention of it.She could, therefore, say "bullshit" (French, as she liked to call it) about as well as Mr. Cruncher.So, her way of buying things is: throw a noun on the head of the shop owner without explaining it. made.No matter what the price of the thing is, she always holds out one less finger than the merchant, thinking that it is a fair price, and she can always get a little bit cheaper.

"Now, Mr. Cruncher," said Miss Pross, her eyes bright with joy, "if you're ready, I'm ready." Jerry hissed and offered his services to Miss Pross.The rust had long ago fallen off his body, but the thorns remained the same. "There's all sorts of things to buy," said Miss Pross. "Time is precious. And wine. Wherever you buy wine, you'll see these red heads toasting merrily!" "Whether they're toasting your health, or the old wretch's health, I don't think you can tell," answered Jerry. "Who's the old rascal?" said Miss Pross.

Mr. Cruncher, feeling a little off, explained that he meant "old Satan". "Ha!" said Miss Pross, "I don't need an interpreter to understand what they mean. They have only one sentence, which is to punish people, hurt people, and kill people in the middle of the night." "Be quiet, dear, please, please, be careful!" cried Lucy. "Yes, yes, I'm careful," said Miss Pross, "but between us I can say that I wish I never ran into onion-smelling and tobacco-smelling hugs everywhere in the street again, so that I could hardly see them." You are about to die. Little bird, you must not leave the fireplace until I come back! Take care of your dear husband you have just rescued! Lean your head on his shoulder as now, and don't move until you come back. When you see me! Before I go, can I ask a question, Dr. Manette?"

"I think you are free to ask questions," said the doctor with a smile. "My God, don't talk about liberty, we have enough of it," said Miss Pross. "Keep your voice down, dear! Are you talking nonsense again?" protested Lucy. "Well, my darling," said Miss Pross, nodding her head vigorously, "the point is that I am a subject of the most merciful Majesty George III," she curtseyed at the mention of the name, "and as a subject my motto is : Smash the conspiracy of that generation, thwart the tricks of that generation, the king is my hope, God bless me, Wang Wuyu!"

Mr. Cruncher, in a moment of devotion, rustled after Miss Pross as if in church. "You're quite English, I'm glad, though I wish you had a less cold throat," Miss Pross praised him, "but the point is, Dr. Manette, we still have a chance Is this place going to escape?"——This good elder sister always pretended to be indifferent to everyone's worries, but now she brought it up in this accidental form. "Not yet, I'm afraid. That would be dangerous to Charles." "Ah-ah-ah!" Miss Pross suppressed a sigh with feigned joy, as she caught a glimpse of her beloved's fair hair in the firelight. "Then we'll just have to wait patiently. So be it. As my brother Solomon used to say, we must keep our heads high and our hands low. Come along, Mr. Cruncher!—and hold you still, little bird!"

They went out, leaving Lucy, her husband, her father, and the little one by the bright fire.Mr. Lorry was soon to be back from the Bank Building, and Miss Pross had lighted a lamp, but had put it in a corner, so that everyone could enjoy the fire without being disturbed by the light.Little Lucy sat beside her grandfather with her arms around her, and her grandfather began to tell her stories in a voice a little higher than a whisper.It tells the story of a supernatural being who broke through a prison wall to rescue a prisoner who had helped the fairy.Everything was low and quiet, and Lucy felt more at ease than ever.

"What's that?" she exclaimed suddenly. "My dear!" her father stopped the story and put his hand on hers. "Don't panic. You're so disturbed! Even a little thing--nothing--surprises you! You're still Is it your father's daughter?" "I think, father," explained Lucy, pale and hesitant, "that I heard strange steps on the stairs." "My dear, the stairs are as quiet as death." He had just said "death" when there was a slam on the door. "Oh, papa, papa, what does this mean! Hide Charles and save him!"

"My child," said the doctor, standing up and putting his hands on her shoulders. "I've got him out. How weak you are, baby! I'll open the door." He took up the lamp, walked through the two rooms in the middle, and opened the door.There was the sound of rough steps on the floor, and four rough men in red caps, with sabers and pistols, entered the room. "Citizen Evermond, aka Darnay," said the first. "Who is looking for him?" Darnay answered. "I'm looking for him. We're looking for him. I know you, Evremonde, and saw you in court today. The Republic is arresting you again." Four men surrounded him, and he stood with his wife and daughter close to him. "Why am I being arrested again? Tell me." "You just have to go back to the Inquisition Prison at once. You will be questioned tomorrow." The doctor was stunned by the arrival of this group of unexpected guests. He held a lamp in his hand, as if he had become a statue holding a lamp.After hearing this, he moved into action, put down the lamp, walked up to the speaker, grabbed the loose front of his woolen shirt and said, not unkindly: "You said you knew him, but do you know me?" "I know you, Doctor Citizen." "We all know you, Doctor Citizen," said three others. He looked at them one by one with anxiety for a long time, then lowered his voice and said: "So, can you answer me the question he just asked? What's going on?" "Citizen Doctor," said the first reluctantly, "the St. Antoines think he has been denounced. This citizen is from the St. Antoines," he said, pointing to the second. people. The person he was referring to nodded and added: "Saint Antoine denounced him." "Inform him of what?" asked the doctor. "Citizen Doctor," said the first man, with the same reluctance just now, "don't ask any more. Since the Republic demands sacrifices from you, you certainly will, as a good patriot. The Republic is above all else. The people above all else. Evermond, we're busy." "One more question," the doctor begged, "can you tell me who denounced him?" "That's against the rules," said the first, "but you can ask this St. Antoine." The doctor turned to look at the man, who stood restlessly, wiped his beard, and finally said: "Yes! It's against the rules. But the accusers—the serious ones—are the Citizen Defarges. There's one more." "Anyone else?" "Are you still asking, Doctor Citizen?" "sure." "Then," said the man from the Quarter Saint-Antoine with a curious expression, "you'll know tomorrow, and now I'm dumb!"