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Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870

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

Now, he was
carried back a score of yards, now onward nearly to the door, now
back again, now forced against the opposite houses, now against those
adjoining his own: now carried up a flight of steps, and greeted by the
outstretched hands of half a hundred men, while the whole tumultuous
concourse stretched their throats, and cheered with all their might.
Though he was really in a fair way to be torn to pieces in the general
enthusiasm, the locksmith, nothing discomposed, echoed their shouts till
he was as hoarse as they, and in a glow of joy and right good-humour,
waved his hat until the daylight shone between its brim and crown.
But in all the bandyings from hand to hand, and strivings to and fro,
and sweepings here and there, which--saving that he looked more jolly
and more radiant after every struggle--troubled his peace of mind no
more than if he had been a straw upon the water's surface, he never once
released his firm grasp of an arm, drawn tight through his. He sometimes
turned to clap this friend upon the back, or whisper in his ear a word
of staunch encouragement, or cheer him with a smile; but his great care
was to shield him from the pressure, and force a passage for him to the
Golden Key.


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