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Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870

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

Come hither, lad.'
There was, for the moment, something kind, and even tender, struggling
in his fierce aspect, as he wrung his poor companion by the hand.
'I'll say this,' he cried, looking firmly round, 'that if I had ten
lives to lose, and the loss of each would give me ten times the agony
of the hardest death, I'd lay them all down--ay, I would, though you
gentlemen may not believe it--to save this one. This one,' he added,
wringing his hand again, 'that will be lost through me.'
'Not through you,' said the idiot, mildly. 'Don't say that. You were
not to blame. You have always been very good to me.--Hugh, we shall know
what makes the stars shine, NOW!'
'I took him from her in a reckless mood, and didn't think what harm
would come of it,' said Hugh, laying his hand upon his head, and
speaking in a lower voice. 'I ask her pardon; and his.--Look here,' he
added roughly, in his former tone. 'You see this lad?'
They murmured 'Yes,' and seemed to wonder why he asked.
'That gentleman yonder--' pointing to the clergyman--'has often in the
last few days spoken to me of faith, and strong belief. You see what
I am--more brute than man, as I have been often told--but I had faith
enough to believe, and did believe as strongly as any of you gentlemen
can believe anything, that this one life would be spared.


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