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Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870

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

Whenever the chimes of the
neighbouring church were heard--and that was every quarter of an hour--a
strange sensation, instantaneous and indescribable, but perfectly
obvious, seemed to pervade them all.
Gradually, a faint brightness appeared in the east, and the air, which
had been very warm all through the night, felt cool and chilly. Though
there was no daylight yet, the darkness was diminished, and the stars
looked pale. The prison, which had been a mere black mass with little
shape or form, put on its usual aspect; and ever and anon a solitary
watchman could be seen upon its roof, stopping to look down upon the
preparations in the street. This man, from forming, as it were, a part
of the jail, and knowing or being supposed to know all that was passing
within, became an object of as much interest, and was as eagerly looked
for, and as awfully pointed out, as if he had been a spirit.
By and by, the feeble light grew stronger, and the houses with their
signboards and inscriptions, stood plainly out, in the dull grey
morning. Heavy stage waggons crawled from the inn-yard opposite; and
travellers peeped out; and as they rolled sluggishly away, cast many
a backward look towards the jail.


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