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Stevenson, Robert Louis, 1850-1894

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

Take
your choice; if I'm not fine enough, I hope the magistrates are.'
'My good man,' I stammered, for though I had found my voice, I
could scarce be said to have recovered my wits, 'this is most
unusual, most rude. Is it the custom in Westmorland that gentlemen
should be insulted?'
'That depends,' said he. 'When it's suspected that gentlemen are
spies it IS the custom; and a good custom, too. No no,' he broke
out, perceiving me to make a movement. 'Both hands upon the table,
my gentleman! I want no pistol balls in my chaise panels.'
'Surely, sir, you do me strange injustice!' said I, now the master
of myself. 'You see me sitting here, a monument of tranquillity:
pray may I help myself to wine without umbraging you?'
I took this attitude in sheer despair. I had no plan, no hope.
The best I could imagine was to spin the business out some minutes
longer, then capitulate. At least, I would not capituatle one
moment too soon.
'Am I to take that for NO?' he asked.
'Referring to your former obliging proposal?' said I. 'My good
sir, you are to take it, as you say, for "No." Certainly I will
not show you my deeds; certainly I will not rise from table and
trundle out to see your magistrates. I have too much respect for
my digestion, and too little curiosity in justices of the peace.


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