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Автор: Charles Dickens

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The wind is rushing after us, and the clouds are flying after us,
and the moon is plunging after us, and the whole wild night is in
pursuit of us; but, so far, we are pursued by nothing else.
CHAPTER XIV. The Knitting Done
In that same juncture of time when the Fifty-Two awaited their
fate Madame Defarge held darkly ominous council with The
Vengeance and Jacques Three of the Revolutionary Jury. Not in the
wine-shop did Madame Defarge confer with these ministers, but in
the shed of the wood-sawyer, erst a mender of roads. The sawyer
himself did not participate in the conference, but abided at a
little distance, like an outer satellite who was not to speak
until required, or to offer an opinion until invited.
"But our Defarge," said Jacques Three, "is undoubtedly a good
Republican? Eh?"
"There is no better," the voluble Vengeance protested in her
shrill notes, "in France."

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