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Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870

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

'
'I knew that what I had to say would be better said after a night's
reflection, when both of us were cool,' returned the son.
''Fore Gad, Ned,' rejoined the father, 'I was cool enough last night.
That detestable Maypole! By some infernal contrivance of the builder,
it holds the wind, and keeps it fresh. You remember the sharp east wind
that blew so hard five weeks ago? I give you my honour it was rampant
in that old house last night, though out of doors there was a dead calm.
But you were saying'--
'I was about to say, Heaven knows how seriously and earnestly, that you
have made me wretched, sir. Will you hear me gravely for a moment?'
'My dear Ned,' said his father, 'I will hear you with the patience of an
anchorite. Oblige me with the milk.'
'I saw Miss Haredale last night,' Edward resumed, when he had complied
with this request; 'her uncle, in her presence, immediately after your
interview, and, as of course I know, in consequence of it, forbade
me the house, and, with circumstances of indignity which are of your
creation I am sure, commanded me to leave it on the instant.'
'For his manner of doing so, I give you my honour, Ned, I am not
accountable,' said his father.


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