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HARD TIMES de CHARLES DICKENS
Coketown (...) was a triumph
of fact (...)
It was a
town of red brick, or of brick that would have been red if the smoke and ashes
had allowed it; but as matters stood, it was a town of unnatural red and black
like the painted face of a savage.It was a town of machinery and tall chimneys,
out of which interminable serpents of smoke trailed themselves for ever and
ever, and never got uncoiled.
It had a
black canal in it, and a river that ran purple with ill-smelling dye, and vast
piles of building full of windows where there was a rattling and a trembling
all day long, and where the piston of the steam-engine worked monotonously up
and down, like the head of an elephant in a state of melancholy madness. It
contained several large streets all very like one another, and many small
streets still more like one another, inhabited by people equally like one
another, who all went in and out at the same hours, with the same sound upon
the same pavements, to do the same work, and to whom every day was the same as
yesterday and tomorrow, and every year the counterpart of the last and the
next.
Chapter V: “Hard times” by Charles Dickens.
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