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Stevenson, Robert Louis, 1850-1894

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

The thought of
the Colonel, of how he would have enjoyed this snug room and
roaring fire, and of his cold grave in the wood by Market Bosworth,
lingered on my palate, amari aliquid, like an after-taste, but was
not able--I say it with shame--entirely to dispel my self-
complacency. After all, in this world every dog hangs by its own
tail. I was a free adventurer, who had just brought to a
successful end--or, at least, within view of it--an adventure very
difficult and alarming; and I looked across at Mr. Dudgeon, as the
port rose to his cheeks, and a smile, that was semi-confidential
and a trifle foolish, began to play upon his leathery features, not
only with composure, but with a suspicion of kindness. The rascal
had been brave, a quality for which I would value the devil; and if
he had been pertinacious in the beginning, he had more than made up
for it before the end.
'And now, Dudgeon, to explain,' I began. 'I know your master, he
knows me, and he knows and approves of my errand. So much I may
tell you, that I am on my way to Amersham Place.'
'Oho!' quoth Dudgeon, 'I begin to see.'
'I am heartily glad of it,' said I, passing the bottle, 'because
that is about all I can tell you. You must take my word for the
remainder. Either believe me or don't. If you don't, let's take a
chaise; you can carry me to-morrow to High Holborn, and confront me
with Mr.


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