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Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870

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


'Surely, Ned. I am always at leisure. You know my constitution.--Have
you breakfasted?'
'Three hours ago.'
'What a very early dog!' cried his father, contemplating him from behind
the toothpick, with a languid smile.
'The truth is,' said Edward, bringing a chair forward, and seating
himself near the table, 'that I slept but ill last night, and was glad
to rise. The cause of my uneasiness cannot but be known to you, sir; and
it is upon that I wish to speak.'
'My dear boy,' returned his father, 'confide in me, I beg. But you know
my constitution--don't be prosy, Ned.'
'I will be plain, and brief,' said Edward.
'Don't say you will, my good fellow,' returned his father, crossing his
legs, 'or you certainly will not. You are going to tell me'--
'Plainly this, then,' said the son, with an air of great concern, 'that
I know where you were last night--from being on the spot, indeed--and
whom you saw, and what your purpose was.'
'You don't say so!' cried his father. 'I am delighted to hear it. It
saves us the worry, and terrible wear and tear of a long explanation,
and is a great relief for both. At the very house! Why didn't you come
up? I should have been charmed to see you.


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