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Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870

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


'I thought,' said Hugh, struggling into a sitting posture and gazing at
him intently, still, 'that you were a part of my dream. It was a curious
one. I hope it may never come true, master.'
'What makes you shiver?'
'The--the cold, I suppose,' he growled, as he shook himself and rose. 'I
hardly know where I am yet.'
'Do you know me?' said Mr Chester.
'Ay, I know you,' he answered. 'I was dreaming of you--we're not where I
thought we were. That's a comfort.'
He looked round him as he spoke, and in particular looked above his
head, as though he half expected to be standing under some object
which had had existence in his dream. Then he rubbed his eyes and shook
himself again, and followed his conductor into his own rooms.
Mr Chester lighted the candles which stood upon his dressing-table, and
wheeling an easy-chair towards the fire, which was yet burning, stirred
up a cheerful blaze, sat down before it, and bade his uncouth visitor
'Come here,' and draw his boots off.
'You have been drinking again, my fine fellow,' he said, as Hugh went
down on one knee, and did as he was told.
'As I'm alive, master, I've walked the twelve long miles, and waited
here I don't know how long, and had no drink between my lips since
dinner-time at noon.


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