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Stevenson, Robert Louis, 1850-1894

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


'You white-livered dog!' I broke out. 'Do you dare to tell me
you're an Englishman, and won't fight? But I'll stand no more of
this! I leave this place, where I've been insulted! Here! what's
to pay? Pay yourself!' I went on, offering the landlord a handful
of silver, 'and give me back my bank-note!'
The landlord, following his usual policy of obliging everybody,
offered no opposition to my design. The position of my adversary
was now thoroughly bad. He had lost my two companions. He was on
the point of losing me also. There was plainly no hope of arousing
the company to help; and watching him with a corner of my eye, I
saw him hesitate for a moment. The next, he had taken down his hat
and his wig, which was of black horsehair; and I saw him draw from
behind the settle a vast hooded great-coat and a small valise.
'The devil!' thought I: 'is the rascal going to follow me?'
I was scarce clear of the inn before the limb of the law was at my
heels. I saw his face plain in the moonlight; and the most
resolute purpose showed in it, along with an unmoved composure. A
chill went over me. 'This is no common adventure,' thinks I to
myself. 'You have got hold of a man of character, St. Ives! A
bite-hard, a bull-dog, a weasel is on your trail; and how are you
to throw him off?' Who was he? By some of his expressions I
judged he was a hanger-on of courts.


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