weather that very day, rude carts, be spattered with rustic mire,snuffed about by pigs, and roosted in by poultry, which the Farmer,Death, had already set apart to be his tumbrils of the Revolution.

• 这很像在巴黎附近不平的土地上耕作的农夫，每天依靠天气生活，粗糙的手推车，满身溅的泥点，呛鼻的猪味，和睡在家禽旁边，这些农夫，死亡，已把他们变为革命的死囚车的一部分。