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Doyle, Arthur Conan, Sir, 1859-1930

"Uncle Bernac A Memory of the Empire"


All my life had been spent in these peaceful surroundings, and now, here
I was with a spirited horse between my knees, two pistols peeping out of
my holsters, and a commission upon which my whole future might depend,
to arrest the most redoubtable conspirator in France. No wonder that,
looking back over many dangers and many vicissitudes, it is still that
evening ride over the short crisp turf of the downs which stands out
most clearly in my memory. One becomes _blase_ to adventure, as one
becomes _blase_ to all else which the world can give, save only the
simple joys of home, and to taste the full relish of such an
expedition one must approach it with the hot blood of youth still
throbbing in one's veins.
Our route, when we had left the uplands of Boulogne behind us, lay along
the skirts of that desolate marsh in which I had wandered, and so
inland, through plains of fern and bramble, until the familiar black
keep of the Castle of Grosbois rose upon the left. Then, under the
guidance of Savary, we struck to the right down a sunken road, and so
over the shoulder of a hill until, on a further slope beyond, we saw the
old windmill black against the evening sky.


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