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Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870

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


'Well!' said Mr Dennis, mournfully, 'if you an't enough to make a man
mistrust his feller-creeturs, I don't know what is. Desert the banners!
Me! Ned Dennis, as was so christened by his own father!--Is this axe
your'n, brother?'
Yes, it's mine,' said Hugh, in the same sullen manner as before; 'it
might have hurt you, if you had come in its way once or twice last
night. Put it down.'
'Might have hurt me!' said Mr Dennis, still keeping it in his hand, and
feeling the edge with an air of abstraction. 'Might have hurt me! and me
exerting myself all the time to the wery best advantage. Here's a world!
And you're not a-going to ask me to take a sup out of that 'ere bottle,
eh?'
Hugh passed it towards him. As he raised it to his lips, Barnaby jumped
up, and motioning them to be silent, looked eagerly out.
'What's the matter, Barnaby?' said Dennis, glancing at Hugh and dropping
the flask, but still holding the axe in his hand.
'Hush!' he answered softly. 'What do I see glittering behind the hedge?'
'What!' cried the hangman, raising his voice to its highest pitch, and
laying hold of him and Hugh. 'Not SOLDIERS, surely!'
That moment, the shed was filled with armed men; and a body of horse,
galloping into the field, drew up before it.


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