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Bellamy, Edward, 1850-1898

"The Duke of Stockbridge"

"
"We'll give ye a dose o' yer own med'cin."
"I don' wanter hurt ye, sis, but ye muss git aout o' the way," said a
burly fellow to Eliza, who, with her mother, had thrown herself
between the mob and Justice Dwight, his undaunted aspect appearing to
excite the special animosity of the rabble. The other three justices
were huddled in the furthest corner.
"It's all right, men, it's all right. No need of any more words.
Here's the paper," said Perez, authoritatively. A man caught it from
his hand and gave it to another, saying,
"Here, Pete, ye kin read. Wot does it say?" Pete took the document in
both hands, grasping it with unnecessary firmness, as if he depended
in some degree on physical force to overcome the difficulties of
decipherment, and proceeded slowly and with tremendous frowns to spell
it out.
"We-promise-not-to-ak--under--our-c--o--m,--commishins--until-the--
g--r--i--e--grievunces,"--
"Wot be them?" demanded one of the crowd.
"That means taxes, 'n loryers, 'n debts, 'n all that. I've hearn the
word afore," exclaimed another. "G'long Pete."
"Grievunces," proceeded the reader, "of-wich-the-people-complain."
"That's so."
"That's dern good. In course we complains.


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