[[@Page:287]]With wonderful quickness, and with a strength both of will and action, that appeared quite supernatural, he forced all these changes upon him. The prisoner was like a young child in his hands. “Carton! Dear Carton! It is madness. It cannot be accomplished, it never can be done, it has been attempted, and has always failed. I implore you not to add your death to the bitterness of mine.” “Do I ask you, my dear Darnay, to pass the door? When I ask that, refuse. There are pen and ink and paper on this table. Is your hand steady enough to write?” “It was when you came in.” “Steady it again, and write what I shall dictate. Quick, friend, quick!” Pressing his hand to his bewildered head, Darnay sat down at the table. Carton, with his right hand in his breast, stood close beside him. “Write exactly as I speak.” “To whom do I address it?” “To no one.” Carton still had his hand in his breast. “Do I date it?” “No.” The prisoner looked up at each question. Carton, standing over him with his hand in his breast, looked down. “ ‘If you remember,’ ” said Carton, dictating, “ ‘the words that passed between us, long ago, you will readily comprehend this when you see it. You do remember them, I know. It is not in your nature to forget them.’ ” He was drawing his hand from his breast; the prisoner chancing to look up in his hurried wonder as he wrote, the hand stopped, closing upon something. “Have you written ‘forget them’?” Carton asked. “I have. Is that a weapon in your hand?” “No; I am not armed.” “What is it in your hand?”
[[@Page:287]]With wonderful quickness, and with a strength both of will and action, that appeared quite supernatural, he forced all these changes upon him. The prisoner was like a young child in his hands. “Carton! Dear Carton! It is madness. It cannot be accomplished, it never can be done, it has been attempted, and has always failed. I implore you not to add your death to the bitterness of mine.” “Do I ask you, my dear Darnay, to pass the door? When I ask that, refuse. There are pen and ink and paper on this table. Is your hand steady enough to write?” “It was when you came in.” “Steady it again, and write what I shall dictate. Quick, friend, quick!” Pressing his hand to his bewildered head, Darnay sat down at the table. Carton, with his right hand in his breast, stood close beside him. “Write exactly as I speak.” “To whom do I address it?” “To no one.” Carton still had his hand in his breast. “Do I date it?” “No.” The prisoner looked up at each question. Carton, standing over him with his hand in his breast, looked down. “ ‘If you remember,’ ” said Carton, dictating, “ ‘the words that passed between us, long ago, you will readily comprehend this when you see it. You do remember them, I know. It is not in your nature to forget them.’ ” He was drawing his hand from his breast; the prisoner chancing to look up in his hurried wonder as he wrote, the hand stopped, closing upon something. “Have you written ‘forget them’?” Carton asked. “I have. Is that a weapon in your hand?” “No; I am not armed.” “What is it in your hand?”