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Stevenson, Robert Louis, 1850-1894

"New Arabian Nights"

He laughed
loud and long, and I feared his wits had given way under the
strain; for even in the best of days he had been a sparing and a
quiet laugher.
"Now, Frank," said he, when his mirth was somewhat appeased, "it's
your turn. Here's my hand. Good-bye; farewell!" Then, seeing me
stand rigid and indignant, and holding Clara to my side - "Man!" he
broke out, "are you angry? Did you think we were going to die with
all the airs and graces of society? I took a kiss; I'm glad I had
it; and now you can take another if you like, and square accounts."
I turned from him with a feeling of contempt which I did not seek
to dissemble.
"As you please," said he. "You've been a prig in life; a prig
you'll die."
And with that he sat down in a chair, a rifle over his knee, and
amused himself with snapping the lock; but I could see that his
ebullition of light spirits (the only one I ever knew him to
display) had already come to an end, and was succeeded by a sullen,
scowling humour.
All this time our assailants might have been entering the house,
and we been none the wiser; we had in truth almost forgotten the
danger that so imminently overhung our days. But just then Mr.
Huddlestone uttered a cry, and leaped from the bed.
I asked him what was wrong.
"Fire!" he cried. "They have set the house on fire!"
Northmour was on his feet in an instant, and he and I ran through
the door of communication with the study.


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