The 11th of the sixth month
1790
Alone at Tellson's by Temple Bar, which I often find I am, my mind drifts from the interests of customers to unfortunate events that have come to pass. As a man of business, which I do find I am, and to be a creature of habit, which I do find I am, another night is late spent re-living the sufferings and anxieties of my dear dear friends. Many of such afflictions caused by a treacherous women, a women of France, Madame Defarge. I have the utmost assurance that this entry of my journal, likely to be the last of this old bachelor, will never be read. I plan to destroy this journal, which reminds me of my sufferings, just as a workbench caused uncertainty in the mind of an old friend who I have had the great grievance of saying goodbye to, very recently. It is because my assurance that this journal will be destroyed that I write so freely and confidently.
Madame Defarge was a vengeful power, a power that I fear even now that the mind and body of the power has ceased to influence this world. I do go as far to make the assumption the loss of this power was better for the country of France, and a blessing for my dear friends. Yet in this journal, and in the hour past, my mind has been not yet to rest, and because of this unrest I feel the troubles of my mind must be relieved. What has given me these troubles is the story of Madame Defarge’s personal sufferings, and the sacrifice made by her for the great revolution. It took a great deal of time after the revolution in France had settled, and after my friends and I returned to the quiet streets of London for the truth to be clear. Never would I be so bold as to believe Mrs. Pross should have spared the life of a women so far passed redemption, but in being a lonely bachelor I find in idle time I wonder about the morality of Darnay’s ancestors. Surely, the death of this women has not gone unmourned but it will surely go unmourned by me. Even now, when years have past her death, I still cannot say I have no pity for the creature. I do condemn her for her actions which have brought pain to many, and death to many. Even in the late days of my life I could never confess to those dear friends I cherish, the pity I had and do have for Madame Defarge.
1790
Alone at Tellson's by Temple Bar, which I often find I am, my mind drifts from the interests of customers to unfortunate events that have come to pass. As a man of business, which I do find I am, and to be a creature of habit, which I do find I am, another night is late spent re-living the sufferings and anxieties of my dear dear friends. Many of such afflictions caused by a treacherous women, a women of France, Madame Defarge. I have the utmost assurance that this entry of my journal, likely to be the last of this old bachelor, will never be read. I plan to destroy this journal, which reminds me of my sufferings, just as a workbench caused uncertainty in the mind of an old friend who I have had the great grievance of saying goodbye to, very recently. It is because my assurance that this journal will be destroyed that I write so freely and confidently.
Madame Defarge was a vengeful power, a power that I fear even now that the mind and body of the power has ceased to influence this world. I do go as far to make the assumption the loss of this power was better for the country of France, and a blessing for my dear friends. Yet in this journal, and in the hour past, my mind has been not yet to rest, and because of this unrest I feel the troubles of my mind must be relieved. What has given me these troubles is the story of Madame Defarge’s personal sufferings, and the sacrifice made by her for the great revolution. It took a great deal of time after the revolution in France had settled, and after my friends and I returned to the quiet streets of London for the truth to be clear. Never would I be so bold as to believe Mrs. Pross should have spared the life of a women so far passed redemption, but in being a lonely bachelor I find in idle time I wonder about the morality of Darnay’s ancestors. Surely, the death of this women has not gone unmourned but it will surely go unmourned by me. Even now, when years have past her death, I still cannot say I have no pity for the creature. I do condemn her for her actions which have brought pain to many, and death to many. Even in the late days of my life I could never confess to those dear friends I cherish, the pity I had and do have for Madame Defarge.