the last supper

¡¡¡¡"French. You don't know him," said the spy, quickly. ¡¡¡¡"French, eh?" repeated Carton, musing, and not appearing to notice him at all, though he echoed his word. "Well; he may be." ¡¡¡¡"Is, I assure you," said the spy; "though it's not important." ¡¡¡¡"Though it's not important," repeated Carton, in the same mechanical way- "though it's not important- No, it's not important. No. Yet I know the face." ¡¡¡¡"I think not. I am sure not. It can't be," said the spy. ¡¡¡¡"It- can't- be," muttered Sydney Carton, retrospectively, and filling his glass
(which fortunately was a small one) again. "Can't- be. Spoke good French. Yet like a foreigner, I thought?" ¡¡¡¡"Provincial," said the spy. ¡¡¡¡"No. Foreign!" cried Carton, striking his open hand on the table, as a light broke clearly on his mind. "Cly! Disguised, but the same man. We had that man before us at the Old Bailey."