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Stevenson, Robert Louis, 1850-1894

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

In St. Andrew Square, I remember
vaguely hearing some one call out. I paid no heed, but pressed on
blindly. A moment after, a hand fell heavily on my shoulder, and I
thought I had fainted. Certainly the world went black about me for
some seconds; and when that spasm passed I found myself standing
face to face with the 'cheerful extravagant,' in what sort of
disarray I really dare not imagine, dead white at least, shaking
like an aspen, and mowing at the man with speechless lips. And
this was the soldier of Napoleon, and the gentleman who intended
going next night to an Assembly Ball! I am the more particular in
telling of my breakdown, because it was my only experience of the
sort; and it is a good tale for officers. I will allow no man to
call me coward; I have made my proofs; few men more. And yet I
(come of the best blood in France and inured to danger from a
child) did, for some ten or twenty minutes, make this hideous
exhibition of myself on the streets of the New Town of Edinburgh.
With my first available breath I begged his pardon. I was of an
extremely nervous disposition, recently increased by late hours; I
could not bear the slightest start.
He seemed much concerned. 'You must be in a devil of a state!'
said he; 'though of course it was my fault--damnably silly, vulgar
sort of thing to do! A thousand apologies! But you really must be
run down; you should consult a medico.


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