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Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870

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

Now, mind.'
The flip had had no flavour till now. The tobacco had been of mere
English growth, compared with its present taste. A duel in that great
old rambling room upstairs, and the best bed ordered already for the
wounded man!
'Would it be swords or pistols, now?' said John.
'Heaven knows. Perhaps both,' returned Solomon. 'The gentlemen wear
swords, and may easily have pistols in their pockets--most likely have,
indeed. If they fire at each other without effect, then they'll draw,
and go to work in earnest.'
A shade passed over Mr Willet's face as he thought of broken windows and
disabled furniture, but bethinking himself that one of the parties would
probably be left alive to pay the damage, he brightened up again.
'And then,' said Solomon, looking from face to face, 'then we shall have
one of those stains upon the floor that never come out. If Mr Haredale
wins, depend upon it, it'll be a deep one; or if he loses, it will
perhaps be deeper still, for he'll never give in unless he's beaten
down. We know him better, eh?'
'Better indeed!' they whispered all together.
'As to its ever being got out again,' said Solomon, 'I tell you it never
will, or can be.


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