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Stevenson, Robert Louis, 1850-1894

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

How rich,
time will tell.'
'I beg your pardon a hundred thousand times, my dear sir, but it
strikes me you have the impudence--in the circumstances, I may call
it the indecency--to appear cast down?'
'It is true,' said he: 'I am. I am cast down. I am literally
cast down. I feel myself quite helpless against your cousin.'
'Now, really!' I asked. 'Is this serious? And is it perhaps the
reason why you have gorged the poor devil with every species of
insult? and why you took such surprising pains to supply me with
what I had so little need of--another enemy? That you were
helpless against them? "Here is my last missile," say you; "my
ammunition is quite exhausted: just wait till I get the last in--
it will irritate, it cannot hurt him. There--you see!--he is
furious now, and I am quite helpless. One more prod, another kick:
now he is a mere lunatic! Stand behind me; I am quite helpless!"
Mr. Romaine, I am asking myself as to the background or motive of
this singular jest, and whether the name of it should not be called
treachery?'
'I can scarce wonder,' said he. 'In truth it has been a singular
business, and we are very fortunate to be out of it so well. Yet
it was not treachery: no, no, Mr. Anne, it was not treachery; and
if you will do me the favour to listen to me for the inside of a
minute, I shall demonstrate the same to you beyond cavil.


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