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Stevenson, Robert Louis, 1850-1894

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

And as for you,
Flora, you shall sleep with me.'
I could not help admiring the prudence and tact of this old
dowager, and of course it was not for me to make objections. Ere I
well knew how, I was alone with a flat candlestick, which is not
the most sympathetic of companions, and stood studying the snuff in
a frame of mind between triumph and chagrin. All had gone well
with my flight: the masterful lady who had arrogated to herself
the arrangement of the details gave me every confidence; and I saw
myself already arriving at my uncle's door. But, alas! it was
another story with my love affair. I had seen and spoken with her
alone; I had ventured boldly; I had been not ill received; I had
seen her change colour, had enjoyed the undissembled kindness of
her eyes; and now, in a moment, down comes upon the scene that
apocalyptic figure with the nightcap and the horse-pistol, and with
the very wind of her coming behold me separated from my love!
Gratitude and admiration contended in my breast with the extreme of
natural rancour. My appearance in her house at past midnight had
an air (I could not disguise it from myself) that was insolent and
underhand, and could not but minister to the worst suspicions. And
the old lady had taken it well. Her generosity was no more to be
called in question than her courage, and I was afraid that her
intelligence would be found to match.


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