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Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870

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

But Hugh, who
had a sight as keen as any hawk's, and, apart from that endowment, could
have found his way blindfold to any place within a dozen miles, dragged
old John along, quite deaf to his remonstrances, and took his own course
without the slightest reference to, or notice of, his master. So they
made head against the wind as they best could; Hugh crushing the wet
grass beneath his heavy tread, and stalking on after his ordinary savage
fashion; John Willet following at arm's length, picking his steps, and
looking about him, now for bogs and ditches, and now for such stray
ghosts as might be wandering abroad, with looks of as much dismay and
uneasiness as his immovable face was capable of expressing.
At length they stood upon the broad gravel-walk before the Warren-house.
The building was profoundly dark, and none were moving near it save
themselves. From one solitary turret-chamber, however, there shone a
ray of light; and towards this speck of comfort in the cold, cheerless,
silent scene, Mr Willet bade his pilot lead him.
'The old room,' said John, looking timidly upward; 'Mr Reuben's own
apartment, God be with us! I wonder his brother likes to sit there, so
late at night--on this night too.


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