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Yazar: Charles Dickens

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That was all the writing. It was so much, however, to her who
received it, that she turned from Defarge to his wife, and kissed
one of the hands that knitted. It was a passionate, loving,
thankful, womanly action, but the hand made no response--dropped
cold and heavy, and took to its knitting again.
There was something in its touch that gave Lucie a check. She
stopped in the act of putting the note in her bosom, and, with
her hands yet at her neck, looked terrified at Madame Defarge.
Madame Defarge met the lifted eyebrows and forehead with a cold,
impassive stare.

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