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Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870

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

It gave a searching glance all round the room,
and a deep voice said:
'Are you alone in this house?'
John made no sign, though the question was repeated twice, and he heard
it distinctly. After a moment's pause, the man got in at the window.
John was not at all surprised at this, either. There had been so much
getting in and out of window in the course of the last hour or so, that
he had quite forgotten the door, and seemed to have lived among such
exercises from infancy.
The man wore a large, dark, faded cloak, and a slouched hat; he walked
up close to John, and looked at him. John returned the compliment with
interest.
'How long have you been sitting thus?' said the man.
John considered, but nothing came of it.
'Which way have the party gone?'
Some wandering speculations relative to the fashion of the stranger's
boots, got into Mr Willet's mind by some accident or other, but they got
out again in a hurry, and left him in his former state.
'You would do well to speak,' said the man; 'you may keep a whole skin,
though you have nothing else left that can be hurt. Which way have the
party gone?'
'That!' said John, finding his voice all at once, and nodding with
perfect good faith--he couldn't point; he was so tightly bound--in
exactly the opposite direction to the right one.


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