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Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870

"Barnaby Rudge: a tale of the Riots of 'eighty"

Such were still his
thoughts more than a full hour afterwards, when, supper over, he still
sat with shining jovial face in the same warm nook, listening to the
cricket-like chirrup of little Solomon Daisy, and bearing no unimportant
or slightly respected part in the social gossip round the Maypole fire.
'I wish he may be an honest man, that's all,' said Solomon, winding up
a variety of speculations relative to the stranger, concerning whom
Gabriel had compared notes with the company, and so raised a grave
discussion; 'I wish he may be an honest man.'
'So we all do, I suppose, don't we?' observed the locksmith.
'I don't,' said Joe.
'No!' cried Gabriel.
'No. He struck me with his whip, the coward, when he was mounted and I
afoot, and I should be better pleased that he turned out what I think
him.'
'And what may that be, Joe?'
'No good, Mr Varden. You may shake your head, father, but I say no good,
and will say no good, and I would say no good a hundred times over, if
that would bring him back to have the drubbing he deserves.'
'Hold your tongue, sir,' said John Willet.
'I won't, father. It's all along of you that he ventured to do what he
did.


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