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Doyle, Arthur Conan, Sir, 1859-1930

"Uncle Bernac A Memory of the Empire"

'
He gripped me by the sleeve, and waved his hand round as Satan may have
done when he showed the kingdoms and principalities. 'Look at the
park,' he cried, 'the fields, the woods. Look at the old castle in
which your fathers have lived for eight hundred years. You have but to
say the word and it is all yours once more.'
There flashed up into my memory the little red-brick house at Ashford,
and Eugenie's sweet pale face looking over the laurel bushes which grew
by the window.
'It is impossible!' said I.
There must have been something in my manner which made him comprehend
that it really was so, for his face darkened with anger, and his
persuasion changed in an instant to menace.
'If I had known this they might have done what they wished with you last
night,' said he, 'I would never have put out a finger to save you.'
'I am glad to hear you say so,' I answered, 'for it makes it easier for
me to say that I wish to go my own way, and to have nothing more to do
with you. What you have just said frees me from the bond of gratitude
which held me back.


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