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Stevenson, Robert Louis, 1850-1894

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

My chamber,
my new valet and my new clothes had been beyond hope: the dinner,
the soup, the whole bill of fare was a revelation of the powers
there are in man. I had not supposed it lay in the genius of any
cook to create, out of common beef and mutton, things so different
and dainty. The wine was of a piece, the doctor a most agreeable
companion; nor could I help reflecting on the prospect that all
this wealth, comfort and handsome profusion might still very
possibly become mine. Here were a change indeed, from the common
soldier and the camp kettle, the prisoner and his prison rations,
the fugitive and the horrors of the covered cart!

CHAPTER XVII--THE DESPATCH-BOX

The doctor had scarce finished his meal before he hastened with an
apology to attend upon his patient; and almost immediately after I
was myself summoned and ushered up the great staircase and along
interminable corridors to the bedside of my great-uncle the Count.
You are to think that up to the present moment I had not set eyes
on this formidable personage, only on the evidences of his wealth
and kindness. You are to think besides that I had heard him
miscalled and abused from my earliest childhood up. The first of
the emigres could never expect a good word in the society in which
my father moved.


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