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Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870

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


'It is too late to evade it now. I sometimes think, that if I had
to live my life once more, I might amend this fault--not so much, I
discover when I search my mind, for the love of what is right, as for my
own sake. But even when I make these better resolutions, I instinctively
recoil from the idea of suffering again what I have undergone; and in
this circumstance I find the unwelcome assurance that I should still be
the same man, though I could cancel the past, and begin anew, with its
experience to guide me.'
'Nay, you make too sure of that,' said Edward.
'You think so,' Mr Haredale answered, 'and I am glad you do. I know
myself better, and therefore distrust myself more. Let us leave this
subject for another--not so far removed from it as it might, at first
sight, seem to be. Sir, you still love my niece, and she is still
attached to you.'
'I have that assurance from her own lips,' said Edward, 'and you know--I
am sure you know--that I would not exchange it for any blessing life
could yield me.'
'You are frank, honourable, and disinterested,' said Mr Haredale; 'you
have forced the conviction that you are so, even on my once-jaundiced
mind, and I believe you.


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