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Doyle, Arthur Conan, Sir, 1859-1930

"Uncle Bernac A Memory of the Empire"


So cautious were the movements of this sentinel, and so singular the
position of his watch-house, that I determined, in spite of my misery,
to see something more of him before I trusted myself to the shelter of
his roof. And, indeed, the amount of shelter which I might hope for was
not very great, for as I drew softly nearer I could see that the light
from within was beating through at several points, and that the whole
cottage was in the most crazy state of disrepair. For a moment I
paused, thinking that even the salt-marsh might perhaps be a safer
resting-place for the night than the headquarters of some desperate
smuggler, for such I conjectured that this lonely dwelling must be.
The scud, however, had covered the moon once more, and the darkness was
so pitchy black that I felt that I might reconnoitre a little more
closely without fear of discovery. Walking on tiptoe I approached the
little window and looked in.
What I saw reassured me vastly. A small wood fire was crackling in one
of those old-fashioned country grates, and beside it was seated a
strikingly handsome young man, who was reading earnestly out of a fat
little book.


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