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Stevenson, Robert Louis, 1850-1894

"St. Ives, Being the Adventures of a French Prisoner in England"

He took a place beside me, spread out his rations,
drank to me derisively from his measure of prison beer, and began.
What he said it would be impossible to print; but his admirers, who
believed their wit to have surpassed himself, actually rolled among
the gravel. For my part, I thought at first I should have died. I
had not dreamed the wretch was so observant; but hate sharpens the
ears, and he had counted our interviews and actually knew Flora by
her name. Gradually my coolness returned to me, accompanied by a
volume of living anger that surprised myself.
'Are you nearly done?' I asked. 'Because if you are, I am about to
say a word or two myself.'
'Oh, fair play!' said he. 'Turn about! The Marquis of Carabas to
the tribune.'
'Very well,' said I. 'I have to inform you that I am a gentleman.
You do not know what that means, hey? Well, I will tell you. It
is a comical sort of animal; springs from another strange set of
creatures they call ancestors; and, in common with toads and other
vermin, has a thing that he calls feelings. The lion is a
gentleman; he will not touch carrion. I am a gentleman, and I
cannot bear to soil my fingers with such a lump of dirt. Sit
still, Philippe Goguelat! sit still and do not say a word, or I
shall know you are a coward; the eyes of our guards are upon us.


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