Quintus and Aurelia discuss Captive Prince

Two certainly not imaginary individuals discuss the fairly popular romance trilogy by C.S.Pacat

Warning: Contains mentions of rape, child abuse, slavery, other gross stuff you’d expect to find in shady romance novels

We wanted to like it because the author tried to include intrigue and SWORDFIGHTIN’ and other things to make the romance less boring and she wrote on the internet before becoming famous and not in a 50 shades kind of way…but…

Continue reading

Quintus and Aurelia discuss the Lawrence manga

Two definitely not made up people discuss the weird T.E.Lawrence shounen-ai manga; if you don’t know what that is, probably don’t click. NSFANYTHING

Au: man, Peter O’Toole was so dreamy *__*

Qu: I know right? since I watched this at a young age I was basically ruined for all men lool

Au: He looks a lot like “real” Captain America

Qu: NOW I’m imagining Captain America wandering around with a lofty british accent AND IT’s VERY CONFUSING

Au: But yeah, when they were talking about how TE Lawrence was a pretty short guy (5’7″), I was REALLY getting the Steve Rogers vibe…


Qu: TE Lawrence was a huge weirdo and this movie was unfaithfully based on his dodgy memories 

Au: Well on one hand, I was thinking TE Lawrence was too awesome to be real

Qu: literally true

I tried to read his book but did not succeed because there were SO MANY DESCRIPTIONS OF DESERT D: SO MANY and I say this as a person who read DUNE which is 50% descriptions of desert and was like “NEEDS MOAR DESCRIPTIONS OF DESERT”.

  Continue reading


CRESSIDA: Who are they?
MAN: How do you not recognize the Queen and Helen of Troy?
CRESSIDA: So why was Hector angry this morning?
MAN: He learned that Ajax is half Trojan
CRESSIDA: Isn’t Ajax Achilles’ cousin
CRESSIDA: What of Ajax?
MAN: he stands alone
CRESSIDA: So do all men unless they have no legs joke.wav
MAN: He is stubborn yet valient yet foolish and a weird incomprehensible mishmash of character traits.
CRESSIDA: So a standard Shakespearean character then


161 To see the battell: Hector whose pacience,
Is as a Vertue fixt, to day was mou’d:
He chides Andromache and strooke his Armorer,
And like as there were husbandry in Warre


165Before the Sunne rose, hee was harnest lyte, ????
And to the field goe’s he; where euery flower
Did as a Prophet weepe what it forsaw,
In Hectors wrath.

nice line

Man. This man Lady, hath rob’d many beasts of their
particular additions, he is as valiant as the Lyon, churlish
180as the Beare, slow as the Elephant: a man into whom
nature hath so crowded humors, that his valour is crusht
into folly, his folly sauced with discretion: there is no
man hath a vertue, that he hath not a glimpse of, nor a
ny man an attaint, but he carries some staine of it. He is
185melancholy without cause, and merry against the haire,
hee hath the ioynts of euery thing, but euery thing so
out ot ioynt,[…]
Cre. But how should this man that makes me smile,
190make Hector angry?
Man. They say he yesterday cop’d Hector in the bat
tell and stroke him downe, the disdaind & shame where

Enter Pandarus.


195Cre. Who comes here?
MAN: Once again I am distubred you don’t recognized your uncle
PAN: Troilus is a better man than Hector 
CRE: That is objectively untrue. 
Man. Madam your Vncle Pandarus.
Cre. Hectors a gallant man.
Man. As may be in the world Lady.
Pan. What’s that? what’s that?
200Cre. Good morrow Vncle Pandarus.
Pan. Good morrow Cozen Cressid: what do you talke
of? good morrow Alexander: how do you Cozen? when
were you at Illium?
Cre. This morning Vncle.
205Pan. What were you talking of when I came? Was
Hector arm’d and gon ere yea came to Illium? Hellen was
not vp? was she?
Cre. Hector was gone but Hellen was not vp?
Pan. E’ene so; Hector was stirring early.
210Cre. That were we talking of, and of his anger.
Pan. Was he angry?
Cre. So he saies here.
Pan. True he was so; I know the cause too, heele lay
about him to day I can tell them that, and there’s Troylus
215will not come farre behind him, let them take heede of
Troylus; I can tell them that too.
Cre. What is he angry too?
Pan. Who Troylus?
Troylus is the better man of the two.
220Cre. Oh Iupiter; there’s no comparison.
Pan. What not betweene Troylus and Hector? do you
know a man if you see him?
Cre. I, if I euer saw him before and knew him.
Pan. Well I say Troylus is Troylus.
225Cre. Then you say as I say,
For I am sure he is not Hector.
Pan. No not Hector is not Troylus in some degrees.
Cre. ‘Tis iust, to each of them he is himselfe.
Pan. Himselfe? alas poore Troylus I would he were.
230Cre. So he is.
Pan. Condition I had gone bare-foote to India.
Cre. He is not Hector.
Pan. Himselfe? no? hee’s not himselfe, would a were
himselfe: well, the Gods are aboue, time must friend or
235end: well Troylus well, I would my heart were in her bo
dy; no, Hector is not a better man then Troylus.
Cre. Excuse me.
Pan. He is elder.
Cre. Pardon me, pardon me.
240Pan. Th’others not come too’t, you shall tell me ano
ther tale when th’others come too’t: Hector shall not
haue his will this yeare.
Cre. He shall not neede it if he haue his owne.
Pan. Nor his qualities.
245Cre. No matter.
Pan. Nor his beautie.
Cre. ‘Twould not become him, his own’s better.
Pan. You haue no iudgement Neece; Hellen her selfe
swore th’other day, that Troylus for a browne fauour (for
250so ’tis I must confesse) not browne neither.
Cre. No, but browne.
Pan. Faith to say truth, browne and not browne.
Cre. To say the truth, true and not true.

Pan. She prais’d his complexion aboue Paris.

PAN: what are we even talking about
CRE: nobody knows lol


255Cre. Why Paris hath colour inough.
Pan. So he has.
Cre. Then Troylus should haue too much, if she prasi’d
him aboue, his complexion is higher then his, he hauing
colour enough, and the other higher, is too flaming a
260praise for a good complexion, I had as lieue Hellens gol
den tongue had commended Troylus for a copper nose.
Pan. I sweare to you,
I thinke Hellen loues him better then Paris.
Cre. Then shee’s a merry Greeke indeed.
265Pan. Nay I am sure she does, she came to him th’other
day into the compast window, and you know he has not
past three or foure haires on his chinne.
Cres. Indeed a Tapsters Arithmetique may soone
bring his particulars therein, to a totall.
270Pand. Why he is very yong, and yet will he within
three pound lift as much as his brother Hector.
Cres. Is he is so young a man, and so old a lifter?
Pan. But to prooue to you that Hellen loues him, she
came and puts me her white hand to his clouen chin.
275Cres. Iuno haue mercy, how came it clouen?
Pan. Why, you know ’tis dimpled,
I thinke his smyling becomes him better then any man
in all Phrigia.
Cre. Oh he smiles valiantly.
280Pan. Dooes hee not?
Cre. Oh yes, and ’twere a clow’d in Autumne.
Pan. Why go to then, but to proue to you that Hellen
loues Troylus.
Cre. Troylus wil stand to thee
285Proofe, if youle prooue it so.
Pan. Troylus? why he esteemes her no more then I e
steeme an addle egge.
Cre. If you loue an addle egge as well as you loue an

idle head, you would eate chickens i’th’ shell.


290Pan. I cannot chuse but laugh to thinke how she tick
led his chin, indeed shee has a maruel’s white hand I must
needs confesse.
Cre. Without the racke.
Pan. And shee takes vpon her to spie a white haire on
295his chinne.
Cre. Alas poore chin? many a wart is richer.
Pand. But there was such laughing, Queene Hecuba
laught that her eyes ran ore.
Cre. With Milstones.
300Pan. And Cassandra laught.
Cre. But there was more temperate fire vnder the pot
of her eyes: did her eyes run ore too?
Pan. And Hector laught.
Cre. At what was all this laughing?
305Pand. Marry at the white haire that Hellen spied on
Troylus chin.
Cres. And t’had beene a greene haire, I should haue
laught too.
Pand. They laught not so much at the haire, as at his
310pretty answere.
Cre. What was his answere?
Pan. Quoth shee, heere’s but two and fifty haires on
your chinne; and one of them is white.
Cre. This is her question.
315The for
ked one quoth he, pluckt out and giue it him: but there
320was such laughing, and Hellen so blusht, and Paris so
chaft, and all the rest so laught, that it past.
Cre. So let it now,
For is has beene a grcat while going by.
Pan. Well Cozen,
325I told you a thing yesterday, think on’t.
Cre. So I does.
Pand. Ile be sworne ’tis true, he will weepe you
an’twere a man borne in Aprill. Sound a retreate.
Cres. And Ile spring vp in his teares , an’twere a nettle
330against May.
Pan. Harke they are comming from the field, shal we
stand vp here and see them, as they passe toward Illium,
good Neece do, sweet Neece Cressida.

Cre. At your pleasure.

PAN: Let’s go up here
CRE: So we can do the thing like Helen in Book 3 of the Iliad

335Pan. Heere, heere, here’s an excellent place, heere we
may see most brauely, Ile tel you them all by their names,
as they passe by, but marke Troylus aboue the rest.
Enter Æneas.

Cre. Speake not so low’d.


340Pan. That’s Æneas, is not that a braue man, hee’s one
of the flowers of Troy I can you, but marke Troylus, you
shal see anon.
Cre. Who’s that?
Enter Antenor.
345Pan. That’s Antenor, he has a shrow’d wit I can tell
you, and hee’s a man good inough, hee’s one o’th soun
dest iudgement in Troy whosoeuer, and a proper man of
person: when comes Troylus? Ile shew you Troylus anon,
if hee see me, you shall see him him nod at me.
350Cre. Will he giue you the nod?
Pan. You shall see.
Cre. If he do, the rich shall haue, more.
Enter Hector.
Pan. That’s Hector, that, that, looke you, that there’s a
355fellow. Goe thy way Hector, there’s a braue man Neece,
O braue Hector! Looke how hee lookes? there’s a coun
tenance; ist not a braue man?
Cre. O braue man!
Pan. Is a not? It dooes a mans heart good, looke you
360what hacks are on his Helmet, looke you yonder, do you
see? Looke you there? There’s no iesting, laying on, tak’t
off, who ill as they say, there be hacks.
Cre. Be those with Swords?
Enter Paris.
365Pan. Swords, any thing he cares not, and the diuell
come to him, it’s all one, by Gods lid it dooes ones heart
good. Yonder comes Paris, yonder comes Paris: looke
yee yonder Neece, ist not a gallant man to, ist not? Why
this is braue now: who said he came hurt home to day?
370Hee’s not hurt, why this will do Hellens heart good
now, ha? Would I could see Troylus now, you shall Troy
lus anon.
Cre. Whose that?
Enter Hellenus.
375Pan. That’s Hellenus, I maruell where Troylus is, that’s
Helenus, I thinke he went not forth to day: that’s Hel
Cre. Can Hellenus fight Vncle?
Pan. Hellenus no: yes heele fight indifferent, well, I
380maruell where Troylus is; harke, do you not haere the
people crie TroylusHellenus is a Priest.
Cre. What sneaking fellow comes yonder?
Enter Trylus.
Pan. Where? Yonder? That’s Dœphobus.‘Tis Troy
385lus! Ther’s a man Neece, hem? Braue Troylus the Prince
of Chiualrie.
Cre. Peace, for shame peace.
Pand. Marke him, not him: O braue Troylus: looke
well vpon him Neece, looke you how his Sword is blou
390died, and his Helme more hackt then Hectors, and how he
lookes, and how he goes. O admirable youth! he ne’re
saw three and twenty. Go thy way Troylus, go thy way,
had I a sister were a Grace, or a daughter a Goddesse, hee
should take his choice. O admirable man! ParisParis
395is durt to him, and I warrant, Helen to change, would
giue money to boot.
Enter common Souldiers.
Cres. Heere come more.
Pan. Asses, fooles, dolts, chaffe and bran, chaffe and
400bran; porredge after meat. I could liue and dye i’th’eyes
of Troylus. Ne’re looke, ne’re looke; the Eagles are gon,
Crowes and Dawes, Crowes and Dawes: I had rather be
such a man as Troylus, then Agamemnon, and all Greece.
Cres. There is among the Greekes Achilles, a better
405man then Troylus.
Pan. Achilles? a Dray-man, a Porter, a very Camell.

Cres. Well, well.

I wish I could mrary him so do I 
CRE: Achilles is better than Troilus
PAN: Achilles is a camel!
CRE: …these hands

Pan. Well, well? Why haue you any discretion? haue
you any eyes? Do you know what a man is? Is not birth,
410b auty, good shape, discourse, manhood, learning, gen
tlenesse, vertue, youth, liberality, and so forth: the Spice,
and salt that seasons a man?
Cres. I, a minc’d man, and then to be bak’d with no Date
in the pye, for then the mans dates out.
415Pan. You are such another woman, one knowes not
at what ward you lye.
Cres. Vpon my backe, to defend my belly; vpon my
wit, to defend my wiles; vppon my secrecy, to defend
mine honesty; my Maske, to defend my beauty, and you
420to defend all these: and at all these wardes I lye at, at a
thousand watches.
Pan. Say one of your watches.
Cres. Nay Ile watch you for that, and that’s one of
the cheefest of them too: If I cannot ward what I would
425not haue hit, I can watch you for telling how I took the
blow, vnlesse it swell past hiding, and then it’s past wat


PAN:Is not a man spiced and seasonsed by beauty, learning, virtue, etc? 
CRE: YEs, but then man dates out, instea do in the pie. 
PAN: I don’t know what ward you lie
CRE: Upon my back, upon my wit, upon my secrecy
PAN: Say your watches
CRE: Nay I…We did the thing where we forgot what we were talking about again

Enter Boy.

Pan. You are such another.

BOY: Troilus summons you

CRE: Little does he know that I secretly love Troilus, I’m just a huge rude

430Boy. Sir, my Lord would instantly speake with you.
Pan. Where?
Boy. At your owne house.
Pan. Good Boy tell him I come, I doubt he bee hurt.
Fare ye well good Neece.
435Cres. Adieu Vnkle.
Pan. Ile be with you Neece by and by.
Cres. To bring Vnkle.
Pan. I, a token from Troylus.
Cres. By the same token, you are a Bawd. Exit Pand.
440Words, vowes, gifts, teares, & loues full sacrifice,
He offers in anothers enterprise:
But more in Troylus thousand fold I see,
Then in the glasse of Pandar’s praise may be;
Yet hold I off. Women are Angels wooing,
445Things won are done, ioyes soule lyes in the dooing:
That she belou’d, knowes nought, that knowes not this;
Men prize the thing vngain’d, more then it is.
That she was neuer yet, that euer knew
Loue got ssweet, as when desire did sue:
450Therefore this maxime out of loue I teach;
Atchieuement, is commandvngain’d, beseech.
That though my hearts Contents firme loue doth beare,
Nothing of that shall from mine eyes appeare. Exit.


vaguely inspired by this post

I have the same problem except with things like Wagner and classical music and ancient literature. Fortunately, I don’t have to teach anyone, so my frustration is purely on principle. I tell everyone I know that the Iliad is one of the GREATEST things ever written* and I feel like they just don’t take me seriously. Then I think, am I a person who says that kind of thing lightly? If I consider EVERY SINGLE THING I have read or watched and decided that this is one of the greatest, doesn’t that mean something? Yet I have only so far convinced one person, who was pretty much a captive audience, by reading it to them out loud.

If I tell people to watch The Ring Cycle they complain that “it’s too long and boring” when these same exact people will watch LOTR movies for 12 hours straight…

Other people think classical music is too intellectual or snobby. With literature, I do think you need a certain level of reading comprehension to be able to understand certain works, but this is music! It’s not like you have to go to music school to get it! JUST LISTEN!

I think, for the general public, listening to a long piece of music without lyrics is kind of like that feeling when you were a little kid and you started trying to read books without pictures. You have the initial stress of but I NEED PICTURES??!! until you realize that books with only words can be good too… but in music they get stuck at this point.

People say that the internet is shortening people’s attention spans, but I think that people have short attention spans naturally and the internet just caters to it. However, there is an area where I think society actively conditions people to have short attention spans and that is the mainstream music industry. They write repetitive songs and play them over and over on purpose, with the result that people think “music” has to be 3 minutes long and have lyrics which are 80% the same words. While obviously that doesn’t mean this genre of music can’t be good, to me it’s crazy that this is the ONLY kind of music that some people EVER listen to. It’s like I’m living in a land where everyone refused to read anything except a poem shorter than 12 lines, and I’m sitting there like, “But what about plot and narrative and CHARACTERS and trilogies and and and…? You never want to experience that, EVER??” Then there are some people who listen to an opera but only as a 5 minute except, which again, to me is like ripping two pages from the middle of a book and then saying, “Oh, that’s kind of nice but I couldn’t deal with more of it.” NO ONE WOULD DO THAT but in the classical music realm, it’s acceptable… ??

On the other hand, I do have a short attention span and I consume a lot of mindless entertainment so I sympathize with the apathetic person. I think it’s hard for people with nerdy interests to accept that what we feel expresses something profound, to somebody else just sounds like “mildly pleasant noise” at best. Their profound things are obviously something else, although I don’t know what, because I’ve never been normal.

As for how to “fix” this, as an antisocial pessimist, I’ve given up. Nonetheless, I like long operas, epic poetry, and long posts, and that’s why I write them even though it means no one reads my blog, because if I just give in and make everything 160 characters then there will be NO ONE doing it and I feel like I owe it somehow to the things I love, to show that there are people who are still like that, even if it’s only one.

*not actually written but orally composed this is why everyone hates me


Apparently it was Shakespeare’s birthday, which I did not realize, but I was reading Troilus so it works out. This is Shakespeare’ crazy version of the Iliad.

I’m not sure he had access to the text (It’s possible, since the first proper English translation – Chapman – finished around 1611, but I just don’t get the feeling. A classics nerd always knows who has read the Iliad and who hasn’t; HOMER SENSE) so I won’t judge him ruthlessly for getting the details wrong…nah, I totally will.

This play will either be hilarious or wildly insulting (EDIT from the future: It’s a hot mess.)

The Prologue
…From Iles of Greece
The Princes Orgillous

“proud”, a great word

The Prologue
And hither am I come,
A Prologue arm’d, but not in confidence
Of Authors pen, or Actors voyce; but suited
In like conditions, as our Argument;

wait, is this supposed to be a person? I hope so. I’m laughing imagining some poor person being like, “I came here to play Henry V, But mine is made the prologue to their play, literally :(”

The Prologue
To tell you (faire Beholders) that our Play
Leapes ore the vaunt and firstlings of those broyles,
Beginning in the middle:


Pan. Will this geere nere be mended?

gear, business, gear, his armour

why is Pandarus being a sleazy matchmaker type, of all people!?

Troy. The Greeks are strong, & skilful to their strength,
Fierce to their skill, and to their fiercenesse Valiant:

use shakespearean grammar in a sentence
these fries are crunchy, and salty to their crunch, and to their saltiness tasty

Pan.  Ile not meddle nor make no farther. Hee that will
haue a Cake out of the Wheate, must needes tarry the
Troy. Haue I not tarried?
Pan. I the grinding; but you must tarry the bolting.
Troy. Haue I not tarried?
Pan. I the boulting; but you must tarry the leau’ing.
Troy. Still haue I tarried.
Pan. I, to the leauening: but heeres yet in the word
hereafter, the Kneading, the making of the Cake, the
heating of the Ouen, and the Baking; nay, you must stay
the cooling too, or you may chance to burne your lips.

“You go around meddling and making in everyone’s affairs!”
How to Bake a Cake…did they even have cakes…
“here’s yet in the word hereafter” I can’t figure out what this means but I suspect punnery most foule
Yeah, Troilus should tarry, not like he’s doing something urgent like I don’t know, fighting in a war daily

Pan. And her haire were not somewhat darker then
Helens, well go too

I feel like that we are not really understanding the concept of THE MOST BEAUTIFUL WOMAN IN THE WORLD

Pan, But for my part she is my Kinswo-
man, I would not (as they tearme it) praise it

way to be a creepster

Her Eyes, her Haire, her Cheeke, her Gate, her Voice,
Handlest in thy discourse. O that her Hand
(In whose comparison, all whites are Inke)
Writing their owne reproach; to whose soft seizure,
The Cignets Downe is harsh, and spirit of Sense
Hard as the palme of Plough-man.

(thou) handlest
“in whose comparison, all whites are ink writing their own reproach” sounds like a laundry commerical
“compared to your hand’s softness, the spirit of sense is rough” just what every girl wants to hear

Troy.Thou lai’st in euery gash that loue hath giuen me,
The Knife that made it.

nice line

Pan. I speake no more then truth.
Troy. Thou do’st not speake so much.

what does this mean

Pan. …Let her be as shee is,
if she be faire, ’tis the better for her: and she be not, she
ha’s the mends in her owne hands.

If you don’t like it, you have the mends in your own hands!!

Troy. Fooles on both sides, Helen must needs be faire,
When with your bloud you daily paint her thus.

nice line again

Troy. I cannot fight vpon this Argument:
It is too staru’d a subiect for my Sword,


Troy. And he’s as teachy to be woo’d to woe,
As she is stubborne, chast, against all suite.


Troy. Tell me Apollo for thy Daphnes Loue
What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we:

Tell me too because I’m completely confused
As the Bard once said, “what we”.

Æneas. How now Prince Troylus?
Wherefore not a field?

Troilus: I’ve never been a field, why should I start now?

Troy. Because not there; this womans answer sorts.
For womanish it is to be from thence:


Troy. But to the sport abroad, are you bound thither?
Æne. In all swift hast.
Troy. Come goe wee then togither.

didn’t he take off his armour and say he couldn’t fight for such a stupid reason five seconds ago?

BONUS: I found some notes from a guy named ‎Gulian Crommelin Verplanck

A Tale of Two Cities

stupid recap edition


LUCIE MANETTE: Loyal, beautiful, caring, devoted, nauseating repository of all womanly virtues.
The great DOCTOR ALEXANDRE MANETTE: Experienced physician and shoemaker.
CHARLES DARNAY: Good-hearted, virtuous young man; only slightly more interesting to read about than a potato.
Mr. JARVIS LORRY: A man of business.
JERRY CRUNCHER: Wife-threatening lowlife of dubious occupation, with the hair of an anime character, nevertheless better than a French peasant.
MISS PROSS: Redheaded English xenophobe.
Mr. STRYVER: A lawyer who shoulders.
SYDNEY CARTON: Drunken fool with keen investigative skills.
DEFARGE: Portly wine-shop owner.
MADAME DEFARGE: Raging lunatic.  She also knits.

Also including:

 THE MARQUIS of EVREMONDE: Enjoys twirling his moustaches.
La VENGEANCE: Enjoys kissing and embracing Madame Defarge.
THE MENDER OF ROADS: Nameless stooge.
JACQUES: Enjoy saying “Jacques”.
JOHN BARSAD: Enjoys being a sheep of the prisons.
ROGER CLY: Enjoys being with John Barsad, apparently.

DICKENS: France SUCKS!  England also SUCKS!  It was also the year one thousand seven hundred and seventy five.

Mr. LORRY: I’m a man of business.
JERRY: “Wait at Dover for Mam’selle”.
Mr. LORRY: “Recalled to life”.
JERRY: Well, that was odd.


Mr. LORRY: As a man of business, I would like to say tell you a story.
LUCIE: *scrunched forehead*
Mr. LORRY: Let’s say there was a hypothetical French doctor who disappeared 20 years ago, leaving his young daughter an orphan, and that I brought this daughter to England to be raised, and that it then turned out that the doctor was actually alive, but imprisoned by the evil aristocracy, and that we just found out where he was.  Hypothetically.
LUCIE: *faints*


WINE-CASK: *bursts*
PEASANTS: *partay*
DEFARGE: Hello Jacques, Jacques, and Jacques.
Mr. LORRY: As a man of business, do you have a hypothetical formerly-imprisoned doctor around?
DEFARGE: This way.

DOCTOR MANETTE: *makes shoes*
Mr. LORRY: Greetings.
DOCTOR MANETTE: *makes shoes*
LUCIE: Greetings. I have blonde hair.
DOCTOR: Are you my dead wife?
DOCTOR: Close enough.


MRS. CRUNCHER: *flops*
JERRY: *throws boot*


DICKENS: The English prison system SUCKS!
PEOPLE: Yay, a treason case!
Mr. ATTORNEY-GENERAL: Mr. Darnay is accused of being a French spy.  The evidence comes from the honourable John Barsad and Roger Cly.
DICKENS: The English judicial system SUCKS!
STRYVER, elite defense lawyer: John Barsad, is, in fact, a lying whore.
STRYVER: Cly is his accomplice.
CLY: Um.
READERS: …and why do we care?!
Mr. ATTORNEY-GENERAL: Mr. Lorry, have you met the prisoner before, on your return trip from Calais five years previously?
Mr. LORRY: Yes.
Mr. ATTORNEY-GENERAL: And you, Miss Manette?
DARNAY: *blushes*
Mr. ATTORNEY-GENERAL: Did he do anything suspicious?
LUCIE: He handed some mysterious papers around and said that George Washington rulez.
ANONYWITNESS: I saw him at a mysterious hotel in a mysterious town one night.
STRYVER: Indeed?
SYDNEY: *tilts back jauntily in chair with wig askew*
LUCIE: *faints*
SYDNEY: Look you, she has fainted!  I mean…I don’t care…*whistles jauntily*
JURY: We acquit Darnay.
JUDGE: But he said George Washington rulez!

DARNAY: Thank you, Stryver.  Thank you, Lorry.  Thank you, Manettes.  Good night all.
DARNAY: *is uncomfortable*
LORRY: This is none of your business.
SYDNEY: I don’t have any business.
LORRY: O_O  Perhaps if you did, you would attend to it.
SYDNEY: Lord love you, no! – I shouldn’t.
READERS: *fall instantly in love*
LORRY: *apoplexy*

SYDNEY: Have dinner with me, Darnay.
DARNAY: *is uncomfortable*
SYDNEY: *gets horribly drunk* *throws around glasses*
DARNAY: Um, thank you for saving my life today.
SYDNEY: Do you think I like you?
DARNAY: Um…no?
SYDNEY: I am drunk and nobody loves me!
DARNAY: …leaving now.
SYDNEY: *drinks self into stupor and collapses*

SYDNEY: *wears a towel on his head* *does lawyer stuff*
STRYVER: Ah, Carton, doesn’t this remind you of the days when we were schoolboys and I used to pay you to do my homework for me.
SYDNEY: Indeed.
STRYVER: A toast to Lucie Manette!
SYDNEY: I do not know any Lucie Manette, she is stupid, I do not like her at all, what are you saying, I’m going home now.
SYDNEY: *goes home and cries*


DICKENS: The Manette residence, a repository of all that is worthy in Victorian England.  Poor, but tastefully arranged.  Their servant was Miss Pross, but that was okay because she LOVED being a servant.
MISS PROSS: Hundreds of people want Lucie Manette to go out with them, but she should really go out with my brother Solomon who stole all my money and left me.
Mr. LORRY: Healthy.
DARNAY: Hello.
SYDNEY: Hello.
A STORM: *rages*
SYDNEY: I feel that one day a crowd, nay, a very Revolution shall impinge upon our lives.
ALL: *nod sagely*


MONSEIGNEUR: *is fed chocolate by five people*
DICKENS: The French aristocracy SUCKS!
THE FRENCH ARISTOCRACY: You are so evil, even we hate you.
THE MARQUIS: *drinks and drives his carriage* MUAHWAHAWHA out of the way you peasant dogs!
A PEASANT: …you just…killed my child!
THE MARQUIS: …your child injured my horses!
THE MARQUIS: *throws him a coin*
DEFARGE: *throws coin back*

MENDER OF ROADS: There is a dude under your carriage.

DARNAY: Hello Uncle.
THE MARQUIS: My friend Charles, son of my elder and unfortunately deceased twin brother. Isn’t it terrible how the aristocracy’s rights are being impinged upon by peasants nowadays?
DARNAY: I think you are trying to kill me.
THE MARQUIS: Of course I am, my friend.
DARNAY: I hate you and your aristocratic kind, and I’m giving up the family name to move to England.
THE MARQUIS: Repression is the only lasting philosophy!  MUAHAHAHAHAHA!
DARNAY: *leaves*
THE MARQUIS: *is stabbed in his sleep*
THE KNIFE: *reads “Jacques wuz here”*


DARNAY: I love Lucie.
DOCTOR MANETTE: But does she love you?
DARNAY: I don’t know.  Also I want to know if she has other suitors.
DOCTOR MANETTE: Only Stryver and Carton visit us, what’s the likelihood of one of them being madly and passionately in love with her?
DARNAY: So can we date?
DOCTOR MANETTE: I think so.  Even if you were indirectly responsible for some horrible crime, I would forgive you for her sake.
DARNAY: That reminds me, do you want to know my real name and…
DOCTOR MANETTE: STFU!  *runs away*

STRYVER: I’ve been thinking, I should ask Lucie Manette to marry me.
SYDNEY: *drinks ten bowls of punch*

STRYVER: I’ve been thinking, I should ask Lucie Manette to marry me.
Mr. LORRY: But I don’t think she likes you.
STRYVER: Well, I never!  *shoulders off out of the novel*

SYDNEY: *sleeplessly stalks the streets of Soho*
LUCIE: Um…hello?
SYDNEY: I am madly and passionately in love with you.
LUCIE: Oh…um…okay?
SYDNEY: But I am a worthless wasted person.
LUCIE: Why don’t you change and put your skills to good use, then?
SYDNEY: Alas, it is too late.  I only ask that you remember my pure true love for you when you see me engaging in future drunken licentiousness.
LUCIE: Of course.
SYDNEY: And one more thing, if you ever need me to do a favour for you, like maybe if someone you knew were in trouble, or say perhaps one of your children needed help, or your husband was captured by French Revolutionaries and could only be saved by someone swapping places with him at the guillotine, then I would do that for you.
LUCIE: Okay.

PEOPLE: We are burying Roger Cly!
JERRY: Turns out that I rob graves for body parts.
DICKENS: Deal with it


MENDER OF ROADS: Remember that tall guy who killed the Marquis?  He’s going to be brutally executed.
DEFARGE: Let’s condemn the Marquis’ whole race.
DEFARGE: Would you like to kill some aristocrats?
MENDER OF ROADS: Yes please!

MADAME DEFARGE: Look out, there’s a spy coming in today.  He’s English.
BARSAD: Good moaning.
BARSAD: So, you used to be friends with Doctor Manette? Did you know his daughter is marrying The Marquis’ nephew? I am the most useless spy ever!  *leaves*
DEFARGE: Wow.  Hey, since Doctor Manette is our friend and all, do we really need to proscribe…
DEFARGE: Never mind.


LUCIE: Oh, isn’t it a lovely evening.  So, you really don’t mind if I marry Charles tomorrow?
DOCTOR MANETTE: No.  Sometimes in prison I had insane fantasies.

Mr. LORRY: Don’t cry.
MISS PROSS: I’m not crying, you are.  Where’s the Doctor?
Mr. LORRY: Talking to Charles secretively in that room.
DARNAY&LUCIE: *ride off into the sunset*
Mr. LORRY: Are you all right, there?
DOCTOR: *makes shoes*
Mr. LORRY: Oh dear.


DOCTOR: *hums merrily*
Mr. LORRY: Let’s say there was a hypothetical doctor who was imprisoned in the Bastille for 20 years but mostly recovered and then had a relapse from the traumatic experience of his daughter’s marriage nine days ago.  Hypothetically.
DOCTOR: Was the hypothetical daughter told about the relapse?
Mr. LORRY: No.
DOCTOR: He’ll be fine.
Mr. LORRY: As a man of business, I think we should burn the shoemaking bench.
DOCTOR: NOT MY BOOBOO SHOEMAKING BENCH!  I mean…hypothetically, yes we should.

SYDNEY: Welcome home, newlyweds.
SYDNEY: Do you remember that one time when I was really drunk and asked if you like me?  Sorry about that.
DARNAY: What are you talking about?  Oh, that.  I never even think of it.
DARNAY: No, mostly what I  remember about that day is that you saved my life.
SYDNEY: Pfft, that doesn’t mean anything, I did it on a whim.
SYDNEY: Anyway, can I roam freely through your house at all times of the year? Thank you!  Bye now!
DARNAY: So, that Carton, he is a rather odd fellow, don’t you think?
LUCIE: Oh, darling, don’t say that!  He has a truly good heart, a secret heart, and I have seen it bleed!  *throws self against breast*
LUCIE: Though he lives now in drunken licentiousness, his true and noble heart is capable of magnanimity, my dearest Love, O Charles!
DARNAY: I did not mean to disparage him, Dear Heart!  I will never disparage him again!  O fondest Love!
DICKENS: If a forlorn wanderer could have seen the drops of pity in her soft blue eyes, he would have cried aloud in the very street, “bless her for her sweet compassion!”

LUCIE: Hi, I’m Lucie Manette, and everyone basks in the glory of my perfection.
LUCIE JR: *is born*
DICKENS: When a man loves a woman, and then she goes off with someone else instead, her children with that other man will hold a special place in that first man’s affection.
LUCIE JR: I love Carton!
LUCIE: Hooray, my very own drunken licentious babysitter!
SIX YEARS: *pass*


JACQUES: *storm the Bastille*
DEFARGE: Hmmm, it’s Doctor Manette’s old cell.  *rummages*
JACQUES: We have taken the Bastille!  Give the governor direct to Mme Defarge!
MADAME DEFARGE: *hews off the governor’s head with a KNIFE* I TOLD U I WAS HARDCORE.

DICKENS: The French Revolution SUCKED!
JACQUES: Remember that guy who said “Let them eat grass”? Let’s kill him.

PEOPLE: Hooray!  Let’s burn everything else in the town!
GABELLE: Oh dear.  *hides in his house*

Mr. LORRY: As a man of business, I’m going to France.
DARNAY: Aren’t you a little old?
Mr. LORRY: Pfft.
BYSTANDERS: Stupid unruly peasants!  How DARE they revolt?
DARNAY: *is offended*
Mr. LORRY: By the way, I have this undeliverable letter for the nephew of an evil Marquis.
DARNAY: Why, I happen to know a nephew of an evil Marquis.
STRYVER: *shoulders back into the novel* Why, anyone who would abandon their Marquis estates in France to the peasant mob is a LOW-DOWN YELLOW-BELLIED GIRLYMAN. *shoulders off*
DARNAY: >:| *opens letter*
LETTER: “Here in France where they brutally slaughter emigrants, I am being imprisoned for having helped you, an emigrant, escape from France.  I feel this is most unfair.  Love, Gabelle.”
DARNAY: I must go…to FRANCE!  And not tell anybody, especially not Lucie, because…I love her!  Love = constant lying!


PATRIOTS: Hello, welcome to France, where we brutally slaughter returning emigrants!
DEFARGE: Hello, I am Doctor Manette’s old servant.  You must be his son-in-law.
DARNAY: I am!  Help me?
DEFARGE: Of course I will help you, into this prison for aristocratic dogs.

Mr. LORRY: As a man of business, I now reside in the house of one of the five servants who fed chocolate to Monseigneur, because everything in Dickens must interrelate.
MANETTES: *burst in*
Mr. LORRY: As a man of business, WHAT?!
GRINDSTONE: *grinds*
DOCTOR MANETTE: What was that?
Mr. LORRY: Nothing.
LUCIE: Poor Charles has been captured in his secret flight to France because France is a dangerous country in turmoil!  So I have brought my aged father and young child into France to find him!
GRINDSTONE: *grinds*
DOCTOR MANETTE: Seriously what’s that noise?
Mr. LORRY: Nothing.  But now, Lucie, if you ever want to resolve this situation, you must do what you have always done.
LUCIE: Stay out of the way and be constantly lied to for my own protection?
Mr. LORRY: Yes.
DOCTOR MANETTE: I’m opening this window now!
Mr. LORRY: Don’t! Unless you want to see a GRUESOME and HORRIBLE sight! – Oh, never mind.
DOCTOR: *opens window*
PEASANTS: *sharpen weapons on the grindstone*
DOCTOR: …okay.
Mr. LORRY: It’s bad because they’re sharpening the weapons to go on a mad murderous rampage through the prison where Charles is staying.

DEFARGE: I have a note for you.
Mr. LORRY: *reads* “Charles was not killed in the mad murderous rampage, love, the Doctor.”  Well, that’s good.
LUCIE: Oh thank you, thank you!  *hugs and kisses Madame Defarge*
MADAME DEFARGE: You did NOT just kiss Madame Defarge.
LUCIE: *backs away slowly* I’m scared.
Mr. LORRY: Don’t be scared, Madame here just wanted to see your face, so that she can…protect you, yes, that’s right, protect you.
MADAME DEFARGE: Does this child carry the polluted blood of the Evremondes? *MENACES WITH KNITTING NEEDLE*
LUCIE: I beg you by the bonds of womanly tenderness, have pity on me and my child!

DOCTOR: Watch as I make up for my past craziness with my present abilities to manipulate the French prison system.
DICKENS: The guillotine SUCKS!


DOCTOR: There is a certain spot by the prison wall.  If you stand there Charles will maybe be able to see you, but he might never make it to the window and if you make any gestures towards the window you’ll be arrested for conspiracy.
LUCIE: I shall go there every day for two hours, dragging my young daughter through the blistering snow!
DICKENS: Her loyalty is so touching!
READERS: Her stupidity is so deep!

WOOD-SAWYER, formerly MENDER OF ROADS: I love La Guillotine!  Chop chop chop!  Say there, what are you doing, coming here every day in an abandoned street to stare at the prison window?
LUCIE: Nothing.
PATRIOTS: *dances the Carmagnole*
DICKENS: The Carmagnole SUCKS!
LUCIE: Oh Papa, I am traumatized by the dancing of the French peoples.
DOCTOR MANETTE: That is all right, they are all gone now.  Why don’t you blow a kiss to Charles, there’s no one around to accuse you of conspiracy.
LUCIE: *blows kiss*
MADAME DEFARGE: Cough. *walks on*
DOCTOR MANETTE: Well anyway, I got Charles a trial for tomorrow!
DICKENS: Who was the mysterious visitor?

THE EVENING PAPER: Behold the trial of Evremonde!
READERS: Who was the mysterious visitor?!?!
THE EVENING PAPER: The exciting trial of Evremonde!
READERS: *sigh*

COURT: Darnay is an emigrant!
DOCTOR MANETTE: Yes, but I was a Bastille prisoner.
COURT: Oh.  Well then.  *ACQUITS*

MISS PROSS: So, now that we’ve saved Charles, can we leave France?
LUCIE: I hear ominous footsteps.
DOCTOR MANETTE: My dear, command yourself!  You are so weak and easily upset!
LUCIE: This from you?
LUCIE: Hide Charles!
DOCTOR MANETTE: Pfft, stupid woman, what have we to fear, when I, the great Doctor Manette, am around?
PATRIOTS: We are looking for Darnay.
PATRIOTS: To arrest you.
DOCTOR MANETTE: But…but I’m the great Doctor Manette!
PATRIOTS: *shrug* *carry Darnay away*

MISS PROSS: I hate La France, Jerry.  Let’s go into this wine-shop.
JERRY: Okay.
JERRY: ZOMG WTF!!!!!  You weren’t called Solomon before!  When you were a witness at the Old Bailey in that pointless-seeming trial sequence earlier on!  You were called John something…John…
SYDNEY: Barsad?
JERRY: That’s the one…HEY!
SYDNEY: Yes, in fact, it is I, the very same mysterious visitor from before.  Kindly accompany me to Tellson’s France.

SYDNEY: Let us now play the hypothetical games of cards and Blackmail.  I could tell the bloodthirsty Revolutionaries that a) You used to be a spy for England and b) you are now posing as a spy for France, but are still actually a spy for England.
BARSAD: You forgot to mention that Madame Defarge knitted me into her Knitting of Doom.
SYDNEY: That also.
SYDNEY: Oh, and I also think that c) you have an accomplice.  That accomplice is Cly.
BARSAD: But Cly is dead, as we learned from Jerry’s Chapter of Seeming Plot Irrelevance.
JERRY: No, Cly is not actually dead, because when I dug him up to harvest his organs his coffin was empty.
BARSAD: This sucks.
SYDNEY: By the powers of Blackmail, I now command you to do me a favour.

Mr. LORRY: As a man of business, I have to say that grave-robbing is not a suitable occupation.
JERRY: Whatever, I’m totally justified, because if I didn’t harvest those organs someone ELSE would anyway.
Mr. LORRY: …
SYDNEY: *returns*
Mr. LORRY: So what did you blackmail the spy into doing?
SYDNEY: Letting me into Charles’ cell for five minutes.
Mr. LORRY: …what
SYDNEY: Hush.  Now all we have to do is lie about everything to Lucie, because lying = love.  By the way, how is Lucie?
Mr. LORRY: Pretty.
Mr. LORRY: I’m sorry, what was that, that sounded like an angst spasm?
SYDNEY: *looks around innocently*
Mr. LORRY: Your foot is on fire?
SYDNEY: Ahem.  *stamps out foot*  So, Lorry, do you think people will mourn you when you die?
Mr. LORRY: I guess so?
SYDNEY: If you thought that nobody would mourn for you when you died, wouldn’t you be horribly depressed and devote your life to drunken licentiousness?
Mr. LORRY: Um…?
SYDNEY: I’m going for a walk.
WOOD-SAWYER: I love La Guillotine!
SYDNEY: *refrains from smacking him up*
CHEMIST: Poisonous drugs, monsieur?
SYDNEY: Thank you.
SYDNEY: *wanders the streets of Paris morosely*
DICKENS: Almost everything in life SUCKS.  Except for religion.  And my elite prose abilities.

SYDNEY: *goes to the trial*

COURT: Darnay, you stand accused by three citizens.  The first is Defarge.  The second is Madame Defarge.  The third is the great Doctor Manette.
DOCTOR MANETTE: WTF@!#?@!#?@!?#@!#!  Why would I denounce my beloved son-in-law?
COURT: The more you love someone, the better it is to sacrifice them for the good of the Republic.
DEFARGE: The day I stormed the Bastille, I found the cell of Doctor Manette, and within it, this paper, written in his own hand, which I shall now narrate.


DOCTOR MANETTE: It is 1767, and I am in prison and writing this letter in my own blood, which you would think would cause me to be brief, but apparently not.


DOCTOR MANETTE: *goes for a midnight stroll*
A WEALTHY MAN: Are you the great Doctor Manette?
EVIL TWINS: Do not question the aristocracy!


WOMAN: My husband/father/brother!  1-12!  Hush!
DOCTOR MANETTE: See now you should have told me this beforehand so I could have brought my stuff.
EVIL TWINS: Use our handy stash of narcotics.
DOCTOR MANETTE: Gee, thanks.
EVIL TWINS: By the way there’s another patient.
DOCTOR MANETTE: What happened to him?
YOUNG PEASANT: Listen while I tell you the tragic tale!


 PEASANTS: *are taxed*
WOMAN: I love you, sick man.
SICK MAN: I love you, woman.
TWIN YOUNGER: Hello, I would like to rape your wife.
WOMAN: I don’t want to be raped!
SICK MAN: Oh.  Well then, stay away from my wife you jerk!
EVIL TWINS: Now you shall be our pony, and stay out in the fields all night quieting the frogs so we can sleep.
SICK MAN: Aie!  I sob twelve times and die!
WOMAN: Noooo!
TWIN YOUNGER: *carries her off*
YOUNG PEASANT: Guess what, the evil twins have carried off my sister.
WOMAN and YOUNG PEASANT’s FATHER: *dies of shock*
YOUNG PEASANT: Well, at least I’ll hide you where the evil twins can’t find you, little sis.  *hides* And now for revenge!

YOUNG PEASANT: So I climbed through the window to duel with him, but I lost the duel and he stabbed me, and then broke his sword into pieces because he was so ashamed of having stained it with peasant blood.


YOUNG PEASANT: With this cross of blood I condemn you, evil twins, and your entire race, to death, to be enacted in any future Revolutions.

TWIN ELDER: Whatever.


WOMAN: *raves*
TWIN ELDER: Is she dead yet?
DOCTOR MANETTE: No, she’s not “dead yet”, you freak.
TWINS: *eye suspiciously* You’re not going to tell anyone about all this, are you?
DOCTOR MANETTE: By the way, she was pregnant.
TWINS: *shrug*


DOCTOR MANETTE: This is all seriously disturbing.  I’m going to write a strongly-worded letter to the government.
MARQUISE of EVREMONDE: Hello, I’m the wife of Twin Elder, aka The Original Evil Marquis, and this is my son Charles.  I’m terribly upset by my husband’s pure evilness and I want to find the Young Peasant’s hidden sister and make amends to her.
DOCTOR MANETTE: I’m sorry, I don’t know who she is.
READERS: OMGWHO is the younger sister?  It’s not like Dickens to have a loose end!!
MARQUISE: Oh.  Well then.  Charles, when you grow up and are making amends for your family’s evil ways will you promise to track down the younger sister and help her, even if frequent traveling from England to France makes the English suspect you as a spy?
CHARLES: Of course mama.
MARQUISE: Good boy.
DOCTOR MANETTE: *posts letter*
A MYSTERIOUS HENCHMAN: Hello, Doctor, I have an urgent case for you.
DOCTOR MANETTE: *steps outside* Where is it?

DOCTOR MANETTE: And so, I, the great Doctor Manette, here in 1767, do likewise condemn the entire race of Evremonde to death, to be enacted in any future Revolutions.


EVERYONE: Yep.  Darnay = dead.

LUCIE: It won’t be long until I am with you again, darling, for I shall die of a broken heart, and Fortune will take care of Lucie Jr!
READERS: Responsible parenting.
DARNAY: There, there, it’s not your fault.
LUCIE: *faints*
SYDNEY: Now that she is unconscious, I can touch her! *carries her home*
DOCTOR MANETTE: The fight is not over. I, the great Doctor Manette, shall visit all the judges and prisons in Paris!
SYDNEY: You do that, and I shall kiss your unconscious daughter!
LITTLE LUCIE JR: I love you Carton!

SYDNEY: *roams into Defarge’s wine-shop*
SYDNEY: Good moaning.
MADAME DEFARGE: He looks like Evremonde, but he is English?
SYDNEY: *reads paper upside-down*
DEFARGE: *keeps chatting in French* Look, we arrested Darnay, do we really need to kill the Manettes as well, I mean…
DEFARGE: But like…it…um…*mumbles*
MADAME DEFARGE: You do know why I hate the aristocracy with a passionate and psychopathic rage, don’t you?
DEFARGE: Because you’re the mysterious younger sister of the Young Peasant?
MADAME DEFARGE: But of course.
MADAME DEFARGE: Tell the Wind and Fire to stop, then, but I am hardcore.

SYDNEY: *wanders back to Tellson’s*
Mr. LORRY: Hello, have you seen Doctor Manette?
SYDNEY: No, but you have to leave France at once, because naturally I speak impeccable French and have learned Madame Defarge is plotting insane revenge.
Mr. LORRY: …hello?
Mr. Lorry: Oh dear.
SYDNEY: Here, take my Escape out of France Free card, and have the carriage ready for all of us by 2pm tomorrow.
Mr. Lorry: Why?
Mr. Lorry: Okay!  *goes off with the Doctor*
SYDNEY: *looks sadly from the street at the light in Lucie’s room*

DARNAY: THIS SUCKS!  I’m going to be guillotined tomorrow and yet unlike some other people who engage in constant drunken licentiousness I actually do have something to live for!
SYDNEY: Hello.
SYDNEY: Please take off all your clothes and I shall take off all mine!
SYDNEY: Now write this letter: “Dear Lucie, remember when I exposed my deep and true feelings for you and made various prophetic statements?  The time is now!”
DARNAY: “The time…is now…” Hey, is that chloroform in your hand?  *THUNK*
SYDNEY: *swaps clothes* Take him away, Barsad.
BARSAD: *tergiversates* *does so*
SEAMSTRESS: I have more characterization in half a page than Lucie Manette has had in the whole novel!  Hang on, you aren’t Evremonde!  You die for him?
SYDNEY: Well not him exactly.
SEAMSTRESS: Please to hold my hand.

 MANETTES + LORRY: *flee*  Are we being pursued?
DARNAY: Mmmpf…Whath that in your hand?  Choloform?
DICKENS: Fear my masterful use of the first person plural.
READERS: Um…where are Miss Pross and Jerry?

MADAME DEFARGE: My husband is a loser because he won’t help me kill the Lucies.
La VENGEANCE: For shame!
MADAME DEFARGE: I shall denounce them for making signals at a prisoner, and for grieving.  Who is stupid enough to stand outside a prison by themselves for two hours a day, anyway?
WOOD-SAWYER: I do not know, Madame!
MADAME DEFARGE: Save me a seat at the guillotine, Vengeance, and take my knitting.
La VENGEANCE: Mais oui!
MADAME DEFARGE: *marches off*

MISS PROSS: All right, you go ahead, and arrange the carriage, and I will meet you at Notre Dame at 3.
JERRY: Yes ma’am.  *leaves*
MISS PROSS: *washes face*
MADAME DEFARGE: *appears in the mirror*
MADAME DEFARGE: Where are the Lucies, you English pigdog?
MISS PROSS: Stay away from me, you French ho!
DEFARGE&PROSS: *confused stare of the unilingual*
DEFARGE&PROSS: *girlfight!*
MADAME DEFARGE: *is owned*
MISS PROSS: Hurrah!  *runs off*

JERRY: Hello?
MISS PROSS: What?  I cannot hear you, it is as if I will never hear anything again!
JERRY: Why, if you cannot hear me, it is as if you will never hear anything again!
DICKENS: And indeed, she never heard anything again!

DICKENS: Oppression sucks.  😦
TUMBRILS: *roll through the streets*
La VENGEANCE: hey where is Madame Defarge?  She’ll be so pissed if she misses the Evremonde execution!  *stomps*
SYDNEY: *talks to the Seamstress*
SEAMSTRESS: *holds his hand and cries*
SYDNEY: It is a far, far, better book that I end now, than the first few rambling and meandering chapters gave the reader cause to hope for.
READERS: *drown in own tears*