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作者: Charles Dickens

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He always remembered with fear and trembling, that that terrible
woman had knitted when he talked with her, and had looked
ominously at him as her fingers moved. He had since seen her, in
the Section of Saint Antoine, over and over again produce her
knitted registers, and denounce people whose lives the guillotine
then surely swallowed up. He knew, as every one employed as he
was did, that he was never safe; that flight was impossible; that
he was tied fast under the shadow of the axe; and that in spite
of his utmost tergiversation and treachery in furtherance of the
reigning terror, a word might bring it down upon him. Once
denounced, and on such grave grounds as had just now been
suggested to his mind, he foresaw that the dreadful woman of
whose unrelenting character he had seen many proofs, would
produce against him that fatal register, and would quash his last
chance of life.

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