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Doyle, Arthur Conan, Sir, 1859-1930

"Uncle Bernac A Memory of the Empire"

I had been so young when I left my
native place that it is doubtful whether, even in daylight, I should
have recognised the countryside, but now in the darkness, half stupefied
by my adventures, I could not form the least idea as to where we were or
what we were making for. A certain recklessness had taken possession of
me, and I cared little where I went as long as I could gain the rest and
shelter of which I stood in need.
I do not know how long we had walked; I only know that I had dozed and
woke and dozed again whilst still automatically keeping pace with my
comrade, when I was at last aroused by his coming to a dead stop.
The rain had ceased, and although the moon was still obscured, the
heavens had cleared somewhat, and I could see for a little distance in
every direction. A huge white basin gaped in front of us, and I made
out that it was a deserted chalk quarry, with brambles and ferns growing
thickly all round the edges. My companion, after a stealthy glance
round to make sure that no one was observing us, picked his way amongst
the scattered clumps of bushes until he reached the wall of chalk.


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