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Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870

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

You were drinking before you came here.'
'I always am when I can get it,' cried Hugh boisterously, waving the
empty glass above his head, and throwing himself into a rude dancing
attitude. 'I always am. Why not? Ha ha ha! What's so good to me as this?
What ever has been? What else has kept away the cold on bitter nights,
and driven hunger off in starving times? What else has given me the
strength and courage of a man, when men would have left me to die, a
puny child? I should never have had a man's heart but for this. I
should have died in a ditch. Where's he who when I was a weak and sickly
wretch, with trembling legs and fading sight, bade me cheer up, as this
did? I never knew him; not I. I drink to the drink, master. Ha ha ha!'
'You are an exceedingly cheerful young man,' said Mr Chester, putting
on his cravat with great deliberation, and slightly moving his head
from side to side to settle his chin in its proper place. 'Quite a boon
companion.'
'Do you see this hand, master,' said Hugh, 'and this arm?' baring the
brawny limb to the elbow. 'It was once mere skin and bone, and would
have been dust in some poor churchyard by this time, but for the drink.


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