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Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870

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


'What DO you mean?' said Joe. 'Don't you see Mr Edward doesn't
understand, father?'
'Why, didn't you know of it, sir?' said John, opening his eyes wide.
'How very singular! Bless you, he's been here ever since noon to-day,
and Mr Haredale has been having a long talk with him, and hasn't been
gone an hour.'
'My father, Willet!'
'Yes, sir, he told me so--a handsome, slim, upright gentleman, in
green-and-gold. In your old room up yonder, sir. No doubt you can go in,
sir,' said John, walking backwards into the road and looking up at the
window. 'He hasn't put out his candles yet, I see.'
Edward glanced at the window also, and hastily murmuring that he had
changed his mind--forgotten something--and must return to London,
mounted his horse again and rode away; leaving the Willets, father and
son, looking at each other in mute astonishment.

Chapter 15

At noon next day, John Willet's guest sat lingering over his breakfast
in his own home, surrounded by a variety of comforts, which left the
Maypole's highest flight and utmost stretch of accommodation at an
infinite distance behind, and suggested comparisons very much to the
disadvantage and disfavour of that venerable tavern.


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