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Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870

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

'
'What can you do for me!' cried Hugh, clutching him by the collar with
both hands, and shaking him as though he were bent on stopping his
breath by that means. 'What have you done for me?'
'The best. The best that could be done,' returned the hangman.
Hugh made him no answer, but shaking him in his strong grip until his
teeth chattered in his head, cast him down upon the floor, and flung
himself on the bench again.
'If it wasn't for the comfort it is to me, to see you here,' he
muttered, 'I'd have crushed your head against it; I would.'
It was some time before Dennis had breath enough to speak, but as soon
as he could resume his propitiatory strain, he did so.
'I did the best that could be done, brother,' he whined; 'I did indeed.
I was forced with two bayonets and I don't know how many bullets on each
side of me, to point you out. If you hadn't been taken, you'd have been
shot; and what a sight that would have been--a fine young man like you!'
'Will it be a better sight now?' asked Hugh, raising his head, with such
a fierce expression, that the other durst not answer him just then.
'A deal better,' said Dennis meekly, after a pause. 'First, there's all
the chances of the law, and they're five hundred strong.


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