Author's Note: So I figured that, considering my penname, I should write something about A Tale of Two Cities…
Disclaimer: Charles Dickens lived from 1812 to 1870. He never saw a computer or the Internet. I am not Charles Dickens, at least not in this life. I just stole the lines in italics from the text. Read the text!
The horses weren't running fast enough. Lucie swallowed hard. Any moment, that horrid Madame Defarge could change her mind and have all of them dragged back to Paris to face the guillotine like her poor Charles.
She was about to become a widow. Her little Lucie would be fatherless. Her own father had been traumatized by the turn of events. Mr. Lorry sat quietly in the carriage, trying to return to his former, mechanical self. Heaven knew what had become of Miss Pross and Jerry Cruncher. Even the constantly miserable Mr. Carton seemed worse off than usual. To call this whole adventure in France a disaster would be a terrible understatement.
The night comes on dark. He moves more; he is beginning to revive, and to speak intelligibly; he thinks they are still together; he asks him, by his name, what he has in his hand.
Mr. Carton began to come to. Thank goodness, the silence inside the carriage was almost as unbearable as the slowness of their progress. He spoke for a few moments before his slurred murmurings formed words.
"What is it you've got in your hand, Carton? You have something, I know it…"
Lucie inhaled sharply. It couldn't be it was impossible. It was too good to be true.
"My God, Charles… Charles!"
She leapt forward and kissed her husband. It was Charles; Charles was alive! He had escaped. But how?
But how?
"A life you love."
Sydney.
Lucie fell back into her seat and wept.