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Practice and improve writing style. Write like Charles Dickens

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He held me by the collar and stared at me so, that I began to think his first idea about cutting my throat had revived.

 

Now the housekeeper was at that time clearing the table; my guardian, taking no heed of her, but with the side of his face turned from her, was leaning back in his chair biting the side of his forefinger and showing an interest in Drummle, that, to me, was quite inexplicable. Suddenly, he clapped his large hand on the housekeeper’s, like a trap, as she stretched it across the table. So suddenly and smartly did he do this, that we all stopped in our foolish contention.

 

“And pray what might you want with him?” retorted my sister, quick to resent his being wanted at all.

 

“How helping him on?” asked Biddy, with a steady sort of glance.

 

“Well! I heerd as it were a person what sent the person what giv’ you the bank-notes at the Jolly Bargemen, Pip.”

 

“It’s of no use disguising facts, ma’am,” said Mr. Bumble, slowly flourishing the teaspoon with a kind of amorous dignity which made him doubly impressive; “I would drown it myself, with pleasure.”

 

“I’m afraid,” said the Jew, “that he may say something which will get us into trouble.”

 

“And what have you got, my dear?” said Fagin to Charley Bates.

 

But perhaps she would recoil from a plot to take the life of Sikes, and that was one of the chief ends to be attained. “How,” thought Fagin, as he crept homeward, “can I increase my influence with her? What new power can I acquire?”

 

“Of many things, Bill,” replied the girl, shivering, and as she did so, pressing her hands upon her eyes. “But, Lord! What odds in that?”

 

“I must bear it, if you let it in.” (Laying the palest shadow of a stress upon the second word.)

 

His constraint was so manifest, and it was so manifest, too, that it originated in an unwillingness to approach the subject, that Charles Darnay hesitated.

 

Charles Darnay roused himself, and gave the required information, in words as suitable as he could find.

 

Book the Third—the Track of a Storm CHAPTER I.In Secret The traveller fared slowly on his way, who fared towards Paris from England in the autumn of the year one thousand seven hundred and ninety-two. More than enough of bad roads, bad equipages, and bad horses, he would have encountered to delay him, though the fallen and unfortunate King of France had been upon his throne in all his glory; but, the changed times were fraught with other obstacles than these. Every town-gate and village taxing-house had its band of citizen-patriots, with their national muskets in a most explosive state of readiness, who stopped all comers and goers, cross-questioned them, inspected their papers, looked for their names in lists of their own, turned them back, or sent them on, or stopped them and laid them in hold, as their capricious judgment or fancy deemed best for the dawning Republic One and Indivisible, of Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, or Death.

 

So, the time came for him to bid Lucie good night, and they separated. But, in the stillness of the third hour of the morning, Lucie came downstairs again, and stole into his room; not free from unshaped fears, beforehand.

 

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