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Stevenson, Robert Louis, 1850-1894

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

No doubt but
he must have observed me when I crouched behind the breakfast
equipage; no doubt but he must have commented on this unusual and
undignified behaviour; and it was essential that I should do
something to remove the impression.
'Waiter!' said I, 'that was the nephew of Count Carwell that just
drove off, wasn't it?'
'Yes, sir: Viscount Carwell we calls him,' he replied.
'Ah, I thought as much,' said I. 'Well, well, damn all these
Frenchmen, say I!'
'You may say so indeed, sir,' said the waiter. 'They ain't not to
say in the same field with our 'ome-raised gentry.'
'Nasty tempers?' I suggested.
'Beas'ly temper, sir, the Viscount 'ave,' said the waiter with
feeling. 'Why, no longer agone than this morning, he was sitting
breakfasting and reading in his paper. I suppose, sir, he come on
some pilitical information, or it might be about 'orses, but he
raps his 'and upon the table sudden and calls for curacoa. It gave
me quite a turn, it did; he did it that sudden and 'ard. Now, sir,
that may be manners in France, but hall I can say is, that I'm not
used to it.'
'Reading the paper, was he?' said I. 'What paper, eh?'
'Here it is, sir,' exclaimed the waiter. 'Seems like as if he'd
dropped it.'
And picking it off the floor he presented it to me.
I may say that I was quite prepared, that I already knew what to
expect; but at sight of the cold print my heart stopped beating.


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