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Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870

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


'If you had reminded me by a word--only by one short word,' sobbed
Dolly, clinging yet closer to him, 'how little I deserved that you
should treat me with so much forbearance; if you had exulted only for
one moment in your triumph, I could have borne it better.'
'Triumph!' repeated Joe, with a smile which seemed to say, 'I am a
pretty figure for that.'
'Yes, triumph,' she cried, with her whole heart and soul in her earnest
voice, and gushing tears; 'for it is one. I am glad to think and know
it is. I wouldn't be less humbled, dear--I wouldn't be without the
recollection of that last time we spoke together in this place--no, not
if I could recall the past, and make our parting, yesterday.'
Did ever lover look as Joe looked now!
'Dear Joe,' said Dolly, 'I always loved you--in my own heart I always
did, although I was so vain and giddy. I hoped you would come back that
night. I made quite sure you would. I prayed for it on my knees. Through
all these long, long years, I have never once forgotten you, or left off
hoping that this happy time might come.'
The eloquence of Joe's arm surpassed the most impassioned language; and
so did that of his lips--yet he said nothing, either.


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