第246章（第2页）

“If it had pleased God to put it in the hard heart of either of the

brothers, in all these frightful years, to grant me any tidings of my

dearest wifeso much as to let me know by a word whether alive

or deadI might have thought that He had not quite abandoned

them. But, now I believe that the mark of the red cross is fatal to

them, and that they have no part in His mercies. And them and

their descendants, to the last of their race, I, Alexandre Manette,

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

unhappy prisoner, do this last night of the year 1767, in my

unbearable agony, denounce to the times when all these things

shall be answered for. I denounce them to Heaven and to earth.”

A terrible sound arose when the reading of this document was

done. A sound of craving and eagerness that had nothing

articulate in it but blood. The narrative called up the most

revengeful passions of the time, and there was not a head in the

nation but must have dropped before it.

Little need, in the presence of that tribunal and that auditory,

to show how the Defarges had not made the paper public, with the

other captured Bastille memorials borne in procession, and had

kept it, biding their time. Little need to show that this detested

family name had long been anathematised by Saint Antoine, and

was wrought into the fatal register. The man never trod ground

whose virtues and services would have sustained him in that place

that day, against such denunciation.

一秒记住新域名www.privatemailbag.com

请勿开启浏览器阅读模式，否则将导致章节内容缺失及无法阅读下一章。