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Stevenson, Robert Louis, 1850-1894

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

Thus accoutred, she made her entrance;
laid down the candle and pistol, as no longer called for; looked
about the room with a silence more eloquent than oaths; and then,
in a thrilling voice--'To whom have I the pleasure?' she said,
addressing me with a ghost of a bow.
'Madam, I am charmed, I am sure,' said I. 'The story is a little
long; and our meeting, however welcome, was for the moment entirely
unexpected by myself. I am sure--' but here I found I was quite
sure of nothing, and tried again. 'I have the honour,' I began,
and found I had the honour to be only exceedingly confused. With
that, I threw myself outright upon her mercy. 'Madam, I must be
more frank with you,' I resumed. 'You have already proved your
charity and compassion for the French prisoners, I am one of these;
and if my appearance be not too much changed, you may even yet
recognise in me that ODDITY who had the good fortune more than once
to make you smile.'
Still gazing upon me through her glass, she uttered an
uncompromising grunt; and then, turning to her niece--'Flora,' said
she, 'how comes he here?'
The culprits poured out for a while an antiphony of explanations,
which died out at last in a miserable silence.
'I think at least you might have told your aunt,' she snorted.
'Madam,' I interposed, 'they were about to do so.


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