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Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870

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

Some of these
cabins were turreted, some had false windows painted on their rotten
walls; one had a mimic clock, upon a crazy tower of four feet high,
which screened the chimney; each in its little patch of ground had a
rude seat or arbour. The population dealt in bones, in rags, in broken
glass, in old wheels, in birds, and dogs. These, in their several ways
of stowage, filled the gardens; and shedding a perfume, not of the most
delicious nature, in the air, filled it besides with yelps, and screams,
and howling.
Into this retreat, the secretary followed the two men whom he had held
in sight; and here he saw them safely lodged, in one of the meanest
houses, which was but a room, and that of small dimensions. He waited
without, until the sound of their voices, joined in a discordant song,
assured him they were making merry; and then approaching the door, by
means of a tottering plank which crossed the ditch in front, knocked at
it with his hand.
'Muster Gashfordl' said the man who opened it, taking his pipe from
his mouth, in evident surprise. 'Why, who'd have thought of this here
honour! Walk in, Muster Gashford--walk in, sir.'
Gashford required no second invitation, and entered with a gracious air.


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