| Defarge reads Doctor Manette's letter out loud. |
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 | I, Alexandre Manette, unfortunate physician, native of Beauvais, and afterwards resident in Paris, write this melancholy paper in my doleful cell in the Bastille, during the last month of the year, 1767. t I solemnly declare that I am at this time in the possession of my right mind—that my memory is exact and circumstantial—and that I write the truth as I shall answer for these my last recorded words, whether they be ever read by men or not, at the Eternal Judgment-seat. | |
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| Two brothers summoned me to a sick woman. I had never before seen the sense of being oppressed, bursting forth like a fire. The woman became my patient as I medicated her. My patient died. | |
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| The brothers were waiting in a room down-stairs, impatient to ride away. I had heard them, alone at the bedside, striking their boots with their riding-whips, and loitering up and down. |
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| At last she is dead? | |
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| She is dead. | |
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