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Stevenson, Robert Louis, 1850-1894

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

We appeal to the queen for judgment,' I added,
turning and bowing before Flora.
'And how shall the queen judge?' she asked. 'I must give you an
answer that is no answer at all. "The wind bloweth where it
listeth": she goes where her heart goes.'
Her face flushed as she said it; mine also, for I read in it a
declaration, and my heart swelled for joy. But Chevenix grew pale.
'You make of life a very dreadful kind of lottery, ma'am,' said he.
'But I will not despair. Honest and unornamental is still my
choice.'
And I must say he looked extremely handsome and very amusingly like
the marble statue with its nose in the air to which I had compared
him.
'I cannot imagine how we got upon this subject,' said Flora.
'Madame, it was through the war,' replied Chevenix.
'All roads lead to Rome,' I commented. 'What else would you expect
Mr. Chevenix and myself to talk of?'
About this time I was conscious of a certain bustle and movement in
the room behind me, but did not pay to it that degree of attention
which perhaps would have been wise. There came a certain change in
Flora's face; she signalled repeatedly with her fan; her eyes
appealed to me obsequiously; there could be no doubt that she
wanted something--as well as I could make out, that I should go
away and leave the field clear for my rival, which I had not the
least idea of doing.


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