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Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870

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

It was that time of evening when, if you
shut your eyes and open them again, the darkness of an hour appears
to have gathered in a second. The smooth-worn pavement, dusty with
footsteps, still called upon the lofty walls to reiterate the shuffle
and the tread of feet unceasingly, save when the closing of some heavy
door resounded through the building like a clap of thunder, and drowned
all other noises in its rolling sound.
Mr Haredale, glancing only at such of these groups as he passed nearest
to, and then in a manner betokening that his thoughts were elsewhere,
had nearly traversed the Hall, when two persons before him caught his
attention. One of these, a gentleman in elegant attire, carried in his
hand a cane, which he twirled in a jaunty manner as he loitered on; the
other, an obsequious, crouching, fawning figure, listened to what
he said--at times throwing in a humble word himself--and, with his
shoulders shrugged up to his ears, rubbed his hands submissively, or
answered at intervals by an inclination of the head, half-way between a
nod of acquiescence, and a bow of most profound respect.
In the abstract there was nothing very remarkable in this pair, for
servility waiting on a handsome suit of clothes and a cane--not to speak
of gold and silver sticks, or wands of office--is common enough.


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