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Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870

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

As truly as the loadstone draws iron towards it, so he,
lying at the bottom of his grave, could draw me near him when he would.
Was that fancy? Did I like to go there, or did I strive and wrestle with
the power that forced me?'
The blind man shrugged his shoulders, and smiled incredulously. The
prisoner again resumed his old attitude, and for a long time both were
mute.
'I suppose then,' said his visitor, at length breaking silence, 'that
you are penitent and resigned; that you desire to make peace with
everybody (in particular, with your wife who has brought you to this);
and that you ask no greater favour than to be carried to Tyburn as soon
as possible? That being the case, I had better take my leave. I am not
good enough to be company for you.'
'Have I not told you,' said the other fiercely, 'that I have striven
and wrestled with the power that brought me here? Has my whole life, for
eight-and-twenty years, been one perpetual struggle and resistance, and
do you think I want to lie down and die? Do all men shrink from death--I
most of all!'
'That's better said. That's better spoken, Rudge--but I'll not call you
that again--than anything you have said yet,' returned the blind man,
speaking more familiarly, and laying his hands upon his arm.


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