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著者: Charles Dickens

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It sheared off heads so many, that it, and the ground it most
polluted, were a rotten red. It was taken to pieces, like a
toy-puzzle for a young Devil, and was put together again when the
occasion wanted it. It hushed the eloquent, struck down the
powerful, abolished the beautiful and good. Twenty-two friends of
high public mark, twenty-one living and one dead, it had lopped
the heads off, in one morning, in as many minutes. The name of
the strong man of Old Scripture had descended to the chief
functionary who worked it; but, so armed, he was stronger than
his namesake, and blinder, and tore away the gates of God's own
Temple every day.

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