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作者: Charles Dickens

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"We will set him above their mercies very soon. I left him
climbing to the window, and I came to tell you. There is no one
here to see. You may kiss your hand towards that highest shelving
roof."
"I do so, father, and I send him my Soul with it!"
"You cannot see him, my poor dear?"
"No, father," said Lucie, yearning and weeping as she kissed her
hand, "no."
A footstep in the snow. Madame Defarge. "I salute you,
citizeness," from the Doctor. "I salute you, citizen." This in
passing. Nothing more. Madame Defarge gone, like a shadow over
the white road.
"Give me your arm, my love. Pass from here with an air of
cheerfulness and courage, for his sake. That was well done;" they
had left the spot; "it shall not be in vain. Charles is summoned
for to-morrow."
"For to-morrow!"

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