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Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870

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


You have anticipated it for years; you have told me as much. I leave you
to digest it. Do not forget my warning.'
He pointed, as he left her, to the slumbering form, and stealthily
withdrawing, made his way into the street. She fell on her knees beside
the sleeper, and remained like one stricken into stone, until the tears
which fear had frozen so long, came tenderly to her relief.
'Oh Thou,' she cried, 'who hast taught me such deep love for this one
remnant of the promise of a happy life, out of whose affliction, even,
perhaps the comfort springs that he is ever a relying, loving child to
me--never growing old or cold at heart, but needing my care and duty in
his manly strength as in his cradle-time--help him, in his darkened walk
through this sad world, or he is doomed, and my poor heart is broken!'

Chapter 18

Gliding along the silent streets, and holding his course where they were
darkest and most gloomy, the man who had left the widow's house crossed
London Bridge, and arriving in the City, plunged into the backways,
lanes, and courts, between Cornhill and Smithfield; with no more
fixedness of purpose than to lose himself among their windings, and
baffle pursuit, if any one were dogging his steps.


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