The word "wife" seemed to serve as a gloomy reminder to Defarge, to say with sudden impatience, "In the name of that sharp female newly-born, and called La Guillotine, why did you come to France?"
The "sharp female newly-born, and called La Guillotine," was hardly known to him, or to the generality of people, by name.
During all that time Lucie was never sure, from hour to hour, but that the Guillotine would strike off her husband’s head next day.
Liberty, equality, fraternity, or death;—the last, much the easiest to bestow, O Guillotine!
I call it my Little Guillotine.
I call myself the Samson of the firewood guillotine.
A strong card—a certain Guillotine card!
You know it is a capital crime, to mourn for, or sympathise with, a victim of the Guillotine.
So afflicted to find that his friend has drawn a prize in the lottery of Sainte Guillotine?
How many to the Guillotine to-day?
The Guillotine goes handsomely.
Six tumbrils carry the day’s wine to La Guillotine.
All the devouring and insatiate Monsters imagined since imagination could record itself, are fused in the one realisation, Guillotine.
To the Guillotine all aristocrats!
The ridges thrown to this side and to that, now crumble in and close behind the last plough as it passes on, for all are following to the Guillotine.
The ministers of Sainte Guillotine are robed and ready.
You mean the Guillotine.
Above all, one hideous figure grew as familiar as if it had been before the general gaze from the foundations of the world—the figure of the sharp female called La Guillotine.
He had since seen her, in the Section of Saint Antoine, over and over again produce her knitted registers, and denounce people whose lives the guillotine then surely swallowed up.
On his house-top, he displayed pike and cap, as a good citizen must, and in a window he had stationed his saw inscribed as his "Little Sainte Guillotine"— for the great sharp female was by that time popularly canonised.
Similarly, though with a subtle difference, a species of fervour or intoxication, known, without doubt, to have led some persons to brave the guillotine unnecessarily, and to die by it, was not mere boastfulness, but a wild infection of the wildly shaken public mind.
It was the popular theme for jests; it was the best cure for headache, it infallibly prevented the hair from turning grey, it imparted a peculiar delicacy to the complexion, it was the National Razor which shaved close: who kissed La Guillotine, looked through the little window and sneezed into the sack.
Lovely girls; bright women, brown-haired, black-haired, and grey; youths; stalwart men and old; gentle born and peasant born; all red wine for La Guillotine, all daily brought into light from the dark cellars of the loathsome prisons, and carried to her through the streets to slake her devouring thirst.
They leisurely walk round the carriage and leisurely mount the box, to look at what little luggage it carries on the roof; the country-people hanging about, press nearer to the coach doors and greedily stare in; a little child, carried by its mother, has its short arm held out for it, that it may touch the wife of an aristocrat who has gone to the Guillotine.
In this car of triumph, not even the Doctor’s entreaties could prevent his being carried to his home on men’s shoulders, with a confused sea of red caps heaving about him, and casting up to sight from the stormy deep such wrecks of faces, that he more than once misdoubted his mind being in confusion, and that he was in the tumbril on his way to the Guillotine.
…burial-places, reserved, as they wrote upon the gates, for Eternal Sleep; in the abounding gaols; and in the streets along which the sixties rolled to a death which had become so common and material, that no sorrowful story of a haunting Spirit ever arose among the people out of all the working of the Guillotine; with a solemn interest in the whole life and death of the city settling down to its short nightly pause in fury; Sydney Carton crossed the Seine again for the lighter streets.
There are no more uses of "guillotine" in the book.
Show samples from other sources
I mean, it was like setting up a guillotine in the public square.
Dave Eggers -- The Circle
He burst out laughing and slammed his cleaver on a salmon, its head shooting across the blood-slicked counter to land perfectly in a little guillotine bucket.
Ransom Riggs -- Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children