Wednesday, July 12, 2017

Which book begins with the line, it was the best of times, it was the worst of times?

A large cask of wine were dropped and broken, in the road. The twist of destiny had came about in getting it out of a cart; the cask had tumbled out with a run, the hoops had burst, and it lay on the stones sincerely outdoor the door of the wine-store, shattered like a walnut-shell.

    all the people within attain had suspended their enterprise, or their idleness, to run to the spot and drink the wine. The rough, peculiar stones of the road, pointing each way, and designed, one would probably have notion, expressly to lame all dwelling creatures that approached them, had dammed it into little swimming pools; those have been surrounded, each thru its private jostling organization or crowd, steady with its length. a few guys kneeled down, made scoops in their  fingers joined, and sipped, or attempted to assist women, who bent over their shoulders, to sip, earlier than the wine had all run out between their arms. Others, men and women, dipped in the puddles with little mugs of mutilated earthenware, or perhaps with handkerchiefs from ladies’s heads, which have been squeezed dry into babies’ mouths; others made small mud-embankments, to stem the wine as it ran; others, directed with the aid of the use of lookers-on up at excessive windows, darted here and there, to reduce off little streams of wine that started away in new instructions; others devoted themselves to the sodden and lee-dyed portions of the cask, licking, or even champing the moister wine-rotted fragments with eager satisfaction in. there was no drainage to keep off the wine, and no longer most effective did all of it get taken up, but a lot dust were given taken up along side it, that there could have been a scavenger in the street, if each person familiar with it can have believed on this form of amazing presence.

    A shrill sound of laughter and of amused voices—voices of fellows, ladies, and children—resounded in the road whilst this wine recreation lasted. there was little roughness in the sport, and plenty playfulness. there was a special companionship in it, an observable inclination on the a part of each one to enroll in a few other one, which led, specially the various luckier or lighter-hearted, to frolicsome embraces, consuming of healths, shaking of fingers, or even becoming a member of of fingers and dancing, a dozen collectively. even as the wine modified into long past, and the places wherein it were maximum giant had been raked proper into a gridiron-sample through palms, these demonstrations ceased, as unexpectedly as that they had damaged out. the person that had left his saw sticking inside the firewood he turn out to be slicing, set it in movement over again; the ladies who had left on a door-step the little pot of heat ashes, at which she had been searching for to melt the pain in her very personal starved hands and toes, or in the ones of her little one, returned to it; men with bare palms, disheveled locks, and cadaverous faces, who had emerged into the wintry weather mild from cellars, moved away, to descend again; and a gloom gathered on the scene that regarded extra natural to it than sunshine.
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