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Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870

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


'He takes such care of me besides!' said Barnaby. 'Such care, mother! He
watches all the time I sleep, and when I shut my eyes and make-believe
to slumber, he practises new learning softly; but he keeps his eye on
me the while, and if he sees me laugh, though never so little, stops
directly. He won't surprise me till he's perfect.'
The raven crowed again in a rapturous manner which plainly said, 'Those
are certainly some of my characteristics, and I glory in them.' In the
meantime, Barnaby closed the window and secured it, and coming to the
fireplace, prepared to sit down with his face to the closet. But
his mother prevented this, by hastily taking that side herself, and
motioning him towards the other.
'How pale you are to-night!' said Barnaby, leaning on his stick. 'We
have been cruel, Grip, and made her anxious!'
Anxious in good truth, and sick at heart! The listener held the door
of his hiding-place open with his hand, and closely watched her son.
Grip--alive to everything his master was unconscious of--had his head
out of the basket, and in return was watching him intently with his
glistening eye.
'He flaps his wings,' said Barnaby, turning almost quickly enough to
catch the retreating form and closing door, 'as if there were strangers
here, but Grip is wiser than to fancy that.


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