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Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870

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


'Look'ee here, Jack!' said Hugh, striding up to him: 'We are going to
tie you, hand and foot, but otherwise you won't be hurt. D'ye hear?'
John Willet looked at another man, as if he didn't know which was the
speaker, and muttered something about an ordinary every Sunday at two
o'clock.
'You won't be hurt I tell you, Jack--do you hear me?' roared Hugh,
impressing the assurance upon him by means of a heavy blow on the back.
'He's so dead scared, he's woolgathering, I think. Give him a drop of
something to drink here. Hand over, one of you.'
A glass of liquor being passed forward, Hugh poured the contents down
old John's throat. Mr Willet feebly smacked his lips, thrust his hand
into his pocket, and inquired what was to pay; adding, as he looked
vacantly round, that he believed there was a trifle of broken glass--
'He's out of his senses for the time, it's my belief,' said Hugh, after
shaking him, without any visible effect upon his system, until his keys
rattled in his pocket. 'Where's that Dennis?'
The word was again passed, and presently Mr Dennis, with a long cord
bound about his middle, something after the manner of a friar, came
hurrying in, attended by a body-guard of half-a-dozen of his men.


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