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Sayfa 430 / 896

Yazar: Charles Dickens

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In the evening, at which season of all others Saint Antoine
turned himself inside out, and sat on door-steps and
window-ledges, and came to the corners of vile streets and
courts, for a breath of air, Madame Defarge with her work in her
hand was accustomed to pass from place to place and from group to
group: a Missionary--there were many like her--such as the world
will do well never to breed again. All the women knitted. They
knitted worthless things; but, the mechanical work was a
mechanical substitute for eating and drinking; the hands moved
for the jaws and the digestive apparatus: if the bony fingers had
been still, the stomachs would have been more famine-pinched.
But, as the fingers went, the eyes went, and the thoughts. And as
Madame Defarge moved on from group to group, all three went
quicker and fiercer among every little knot of women that she had
spoken with, and left behind.

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