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Stevenson, Robert Louis, 1850-1894

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

His cackle was indeed almost continuous, but it
was never unamiable. He showed an amiable curiosity when he was
asking questions; an amiable guilelessness when he was conferring
information. And both he did largely. I am in a position to write
the biographies of Mr. Rowley, Mr. Rowley's father and mother, his
Aunt Eliza, and the miller's dog; and nothing but pity for the
reader, and some misgivings as to the law of copyright, prevail on
me to withhold them.
A general design to mould himself upon my example became early
apparent, and I had not the heart to check it. He began to mimic
my carriage; he acquired, with servile accuracy, a little manner I
had of shrugging the shoulders; and I may say it was by observing
it in him that I first discovered it in myself. One day it came
out by chance that I was of the Catholic religion. He became
plunged in thought, at which I was gently glad. Then suddenly -
'Odd-rabbit it! I'll be Catholic too!' he broke out. 'You must
teach me it, Mr. Anne--I mean, Ramornie.'
I dissuaded him: alleging that he would find me very imperfectly
informed as to the grounds and doctrines of the Church, and that,
after all, in the matter of religions, it was a very poor idea to
change. 'Of course, my Church is the best,' said I; 'but that is
not the reason why I belong to it: I belong to it because it was
the faith of my house.


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