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Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870

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


The hum grew, as the time drew near, so loud, that those who were at the
windows could not hear the church-clock strike, though it was close at
hand. Nor had they any need to hear it, either, for they could see it
in the people's faces. So surely as another quarter chimed, there was
a movement in the crowd--as if something had passed over it--as if the
light upon them had been changed--in which the fact was readable as on a
brazen dial, figured by a giant's hand.
Three quarters past eleven! The murmur now was deafening, yet every man
seemed mute. Look where you would among the crowd, you saw strained eyes
and lips compressed; it would have been difficult for the most vigilant
observer to point this way or that, and say that yonder man had cried
out. It were as easy to detect the motion of lips in a sea-shell.
Three quarters past eleven! Many spectators who had retired from the
windows, came back refreshed, as though their watch had just begun.
Those who had fallen asleep, roused themselves; and every person in the
crowd made one last effort to better his position--which caused a press
against the sturdy barriers that made them bend and yield like twigs.
The officers, who until now had kept together, fell into their several
positions, and gave the words of command.


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