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Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870

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

'
God knows what magic the name had for his ears; but Barnaby released his
hold, fell back, and looked at him aghast. Suddenly he sprung towards
him, put his arms about his neck, and pressed his head against his
cheek.
Yes, yes, he was; he was sure he was. But where had he been so long, and
why had he left his mother by herself, or worse than by herself, with
her poor foolish boy? And had she really been as happy as they said?
And where was she? Was she near there? She was not happy now, and he in
jail? Ah, no.
Not a word was said in answer; but Grip croaked loudly, and hopped
about them, round and round, as if enclosing them in a magic circle, and
invoking all the powers of mischief.

Chapter 63

During the whole of this day, every regiment in or near the metropolis
was on duty in one or other part of the town; and the regulars and
militia, in obedience to the orders which were sent to every barrack and
station within twenty-four hours' journey, began to pour in by all the
roads. But the disturbance had attained to such a formidable height, and
the rioters had grown, with impunity, to be so audacious, that the sight
of this great force, continually augmented by new arrivals, instead of
operating as a check, stimulated them to outrages of greater hardihood
than any they had yet committed; and helped to kindle a flame in
London, the like of which had never been beheld, even in its ancient and
rebellious times.


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