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Stevenson, Robert Louis, 1850-1894

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

A
continual sound of munching and the crying of a great quantity of
moor birds accompanied our progress, which the deliberate pace and
perennial appetite of the cattle rendered wearisomely slow. In the
midst my two conductors marched in a contented silence that I could
not but admire. The more I looked at them, the more I was
impressed by their absurd resemblance to each other. They were
dressed in the same coarse homespun, carried similar sticks, were
equally begrimed about the nose with snuff, and each wound in an
identical plaid of what is called the shepherd's tartan. In a back
view they might be described as indistinguishable; and even from
the front they were much alike. An incredible coincidence of
humours augmented the impression. Thrice and four times I
attempted to pave the way for some exchange of thought, sentiment,
or--at the least of it--human words. An Ay or an Nhm was the sole
return, and the topic died on the hill-side without echo. I can
never deny that I was chagrined; and when, after a little more
walking, Sim turned towards me and offered me a ram's horn of
snuff, with the question 'Do ye use it?' I answered, with some
animation, 'Faith, sir, I would use pepper to introduce a little
cordiality.' But even this sally failed to reach, or at least
failed to soften, my companions.


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