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Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870

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

He had a vague impression too, that he was
expected to be brave--that he was a man of great consequence, and that
the prison people would be glad to make him weep. He trod the ground
more firmly as he thought of this, and bade her take heart and cry no
more, and feel how steady his hand was. 'They call me silly, mother.
They shall see to-morrow!'
Dennis and Hugh were in the courtyard. Hugh came forth from his cell as
they did, stretching himself as though he had been sleeping. Dennis sat
upon a bench in a corner, with his knees and chin huddled together, and
rocked himself to and fro like a person in severe pain.
The mother and son remained on one side of the court, and these two men
upon the other. Hugh strode up and down, glancing fiercely every now and
then at the bright summer sky, and looking round, when he had done so,
at the walls.
'No reprieve, no reprieve! Nobody comes near us. There's only the night
left now!' moaned Dennis faintly, as he wrung his hands. 'Do you think
they'll reprieve me in the night, brother? I've known reprieves come
in the night, afore now. I've known 'em come as late as five, six, and
seven o'clock in the morning. Don't you think there's a good chance
yet,--don't you? Say you do.


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