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Stevenson, Robert Louis, 1850-1894

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

'
With a sudden snatch, he carried the cart two yards into the
roadway. The horses plunged and came to a stop. 'No, you don't!'
he said, menacing me with the whip. 'None o' that with me.'
'None of what?' said I. 'I asked you for a lift, but I have no
idea of taking one by force.'
'Well, I've got to take care of the cart and 'orses, I have,' says
he. 'I don't take up with no runagate vagabones, you see, else.'
'I ought to thank you for your touching confidence,' said I,
approaching carelessly nearer as I spoke. 'But I admit the road is
solitary hereabouts, and no doubt an accident soon happens. Little
fear of anything of the kind with you! I like you for it, like
your prudence, like that pastoral shyness of disposition. But why
not put it out of my power to hurt? Why not open the door and
bestow me here in the box, or whatever you please to call it?' And
I laid my hand demonstratively on the body of the cart.
He had been timorous before; but at this, he seemed to lose the
power of speech a moment, and stared at me in a perfect enthusiasm
of fear.
'Why not?' I continued. 'The idea is good. I should be safe in
there if I were the monster Williams himself. The great thing is
to have me under lock and key. For it does lock; it is locked
now,' said I, trying the door.


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