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Barnaby Rudge: a tale of the Riots of 'eighty by Charles Dickens
page 76 of 910 (08%)
'Say no more, sir, say no more,' said Gabriel. 'I hope I would have done
at least as much for any man in such a strait, and most of all for you,
sir. A certain young lady,' he added, with some hesitation, 'has done us
many a kind turn, and we naturally feel--I hope I give you no offence in
saying this, sir?'

The young man smiled and shook his head; at the same time moving in his
chair as if in pain.

'It's no great matter,' he said, in answer to the locksmith's
sympathising look, 'a mere uneasiness arising at least as much from
being cooped up here, as from the slight wound I have, or from the loss
of blood. Be seated, Mr Varden.'

'If I may make so bold, Mr Edward, as to lean upon your chair,' returned
the locksmith, accommodating his action to his speech, and bending over
him, 'I'll stand here for the convenience of speaking low. Barnaby is
not in his quietest humour to-night, and at such times talking never
does him good.'

They both glanced at the subject of this remark, who had taken a seat on
the other side of the fire, and, smiling vacantly, was making puzzles on
his fingers with a skein of string.

'Pray, tell me, sir,' said Varden, dropping his voice still lower,
'exactly what happened last night. I have my reason for inquiring. You
left the Maypole, alone?'

'And walked homeward alone, until I had nearly reached the place where
you found me, when I heard the gallop of a horse.'
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