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Blackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge), 1825-1900

"Springhaven : a Tale of the Great War"

Bah! What odds to me? I have
higher stakes to play for. But according to old Twemlow's description,
she must be the daughter of that old bear Darling, with whom I shall
have to pick a bone some day. Ha! How amusing is that battery to me! How
little John Bull knows the nature of French troops! To-morrow we are
to have a grand practice-day; and I hope they won't shoot me in my new
lodgings. Nothing is impossible to such an idiot as Stubbard. What a set
of imbeciles I have found to do with! They have scarcely wit enough to
amuse oneself with. Pest of my soul! Is that you, Charron? Again you
have broken my orders."
"Names should be avoided in the open air," answered the man, who was
swinging on a gate with the simple delight of a Picard. "The climate is
of France so much to-night that I found it my duty to encourage it.
For what reason shall not I do that? It is not so often that I have
occasion. My dear friend, scold not, but accept the compliment very
seldom truthful to your native land. There are none of your clod-pates
about to-night."
"Come in at once. The mere sound of your breath is enough to set the
neighbourhood wondering. Could I ever have been burdened with a more
French Frenchman, though you speak as good English as I do?"
"It was all of that miserable Cheray," the French gentleman said, when
they sat in the kitchen, and Jerry Bowles was feeding the fine black
horse. "Fruit is a thing that my mouth prepares for, directly there is
any warmth in the sun.


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