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Lawrence, George A. (George Alfred), 1827-1876

"Guy Livingstone; or, 'Thorough'"


We all started, and set down our glasses; but Mohun finished his slowly,
savoring like a connoisseur the rich Burgundy.
"It is the wild Irish women keening over their dead," he remarked, with
perfect unconcern. "They'll have more to howl for before I have done
with them. I shall go round with the police to-morrow and pick up the
stragglers. Your men are too good for such work, Harding. There are
several too hard hit to go far, and my hand-writing is pretty legible."
The stout soldier to whom he spoke bent his head in assent, but with
rather a queer expression on his honest face.
"Gad!" he said, "you do your work cleanly, Mohun."
"It is the best way, and the shortest in the end," was the reply; and so
the matter dropped.
The Dragoons left us before daybreak; their protection was not needed;
we were as safe as in the Tower of London. The next morning, while I was
sleeping heavily, Ralph was in the saddle scouring the country, with
what success the next Assizes could tell.
I go there again this winter for the cock-shooting, but I don't much
think Kate will accompany me.
Now who says "a rubber?" Don't all speak at once.


CHAPTER XVIII.
"He has mounted her on a milk-white steed,
Himself on a dappled gray;
And a bugelet-horn hung down by his side
As lightly they rode away.


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