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Sabatini, Rafael, 1875-1950

"Scaramouche"


He is rightly indignant, calls you a traitor, and swears that he
will never speak to you again. But he doesn't want you hanged,
Andre."
"Then we are agreed on that at least, for I don't want it myself."
"I'll make your peace with him. And now - good-bye, Andre. Send me
a word when you are safe."
She held out a hand that looked ghostly in the faint light. He took
it and bore it to his lips.
"God bless you, Aline."
She was gone, and he stood listening to the receding clopper-clop of
hooves until it grew faint in the distance. Then slowly, with
shoulders hunched and head sunk on his breast, he retraced his steps
to the main road, cogitating whither he should go. Quite suddenly
he checked, remembering with dismay that he was almost entirely
without money. In Brittany itself he knew of no dependable
hiding-place, and as long as he was in Brittany his peril must
remain imminent. Yet to leave the province, and to leave it as
quickly as prudence dictated, horses would be necessary. And how
was he to procure horses, having no money beyond a single louis
d'or and a few pieces of silver?
There was also the fact that he was very weary.


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