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Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870

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

If
you want a frightened fellow there's one that'll suit you. Try your hand
upon him.'
He pointed, as he spoke, to Dennis, who, with his legs trailing on the
ground, was held between two men; and who trembled so, that all his
joints and limbs seemed racked by spasms. Turning from this wretched
spectacle, he called to Barnaby, who stood apart.
'What cheer, Barnaby? Don't be downcast, lad. Leave that to HIM.'
'Bless you,' cried Barnaby, stepping lightly towards him, 'I'm not
frightened, Hugh. I'm quite happy. I wouldn't desire to live now,
if they'd let me. Look at me! Am I afraid to die? Will they see ME
tremble?'
Hugh gazed for a moment at his face, on which there was a strange,
unearthly smile; and at his eye, which sparkled brightly; and
interposing between him and the Ordinary, gruffly whispered to the
latter:
'I wouldn't say much to him, master, if I was you. He may spoil your
appetite for breakfast, though you ARE used to it.'
He was the only one of the three who had washed or trimmed himself
that morning. Neither of the others had done so, since their doom was
pronounced. He still wore the broken peacock's feathers in his hat; and
all his usual scraps of finery were carefully disposed about his person.


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