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Le Fanu, Joseph Sheridan, 1814-1873

"Uncle Silas A Tale of Bartram-Haugh"

It was still
dark and starless. We got along the platform, I half asleep, the porter
carrying our rugs, by the glare of a pair of gas-jets in the wall, and out
by a small door at the end.
I remember that Madame, contrary to her wont, gave the man some money. By
the puzzling light of the carriage-lamps we got in and took our seats.
'Go on,' screamed Madame, and drew up the window with a great chuck; and we
were enclosed in darkness and silence, the most favourable conditions for
thought.
My sleep had not restored me as it might; I felt feverish, fatigued, and
still very drowsy, though unable to sleep as I had done.
I dozed by fits and starts, and lay awake, or half-awake, sometimes, not
thinking but in a way imagining what kind of a place Dover would be; but
too tired and listless to ask Madame any questions, and merely seeing the
hedges, grey in the lamplight, glide backward into darkness, as I leaned
back.
We turned off the main road, at right angles, and drew up.
'Get down and poosh it, it is open,' screamed Madame from the window.
A gate, I suppose, was thus passed; for when we resumed our brisk trot,
Madame bawled across the carriage--
'We are now in the 'otel grounds.


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