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Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870

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


Throwing himself into a great chair (in which, by the bye, he often
snored away the night, when he had been, according to his admirers, a
finer country gentleman than usual) he bade the man to tell his mistress
to come down: and presently there appeared, a little flurried, as it
seemed, by the unwonted summons, a lady much younger than himself, who
had the appearance of being in delicate health, and not too happy.
'Here! Thou'st no delight in following the hounds as an Englishwoman
should have,' said the gentleman. 'See to this here. That'll please thee
perhaps.'
The lady smiled, sat down at a little distance from him, and glanced at
Barnaby with a look of pity.
'He's an idiot, the woman says,' observed the gentleman, shaking his
head; 'I don't believe it.'
'Are you his mother?' asked the lady.
She answered yes.
'What's the use of asking HER?' said the gentleman, thrusting his hands
into his breeches pockets. 'She'll tell thee so, of course. Most likely
he's hired, at so much a day. There. Get on. Make him do something.'
Grip having by this time recovered his urbanity, condescended, at
Barnaby's solicitation, to repeat his various phrases of speech, and to
go through the whole of his performances with the utmost success.


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