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Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870

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

If she was
for a moment free from any of these complaints, it was only because of
her foot being asleep, or of her arm having got the fidgets, or of her
leg being doubled up with the cramp, or of some other horrible disorder
which racked her whole frame. If she did enjoy a moment's ease, then
with her eyes shut and her mouth wide open, she would be seen to sit
very stiff and upright in her chair; then to nod a little way forward,
and stop with a jerk; then to nod a little farther forward, and stop
with another jerk; then to recover herself; then to come forward
again--lower--lower--lower--by very slow degrees, until, just as it
seemed impossible that she could preserve her balance for another
instant, and the locksmith was about to call out in an agony, to save
her from dashing down upon her forehead and fracturing her skull, then
all of a sudden and without the smallest notice, she would come upright
and rigid again with her eyes open, and in her countenance an expression
of defiance, sleepy but yet most obstinate, which plainly said, 'I've
never once closed 'em since I looked at you last, and I'll take my oath
of it!'
At length, after the clock had struck two, there was a sound at the
street door, as if somebody had fallen against the knocker by accident.


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