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Le Fanu, Joseph Sheridan, 1814-1873

"Uncle Silas A Tale of Bartram-Haugh"

Well, what you expect to find me now? _Bah_!'
This terrific 'Bah!' with a long nasal yell of scorn, rang in my ears like
a clap of thunder.
'I say you are mad, petite insolente, to suppose I should care for you more
than the poor hare it will care for the hound--more than the bird who has
escape will love the oiseleur. I do not care--I ought not care. It is your
turn to suffer. Lie down on your bed there, and suffer quaitely.'


CHAPTER LXIII
_SPICED CLARET_

I did not lie down; but I despaired. I walked round and round the room,
wringing my hands in utter distraction. I threw myself at the bedside on my
knees. I could not pray; I could only shiver and moan, with hands clasped,
and eyes of horror turned up to heaven. I think Madame was, in her
malignant way, perplexed. That some evil was intended me I am sure she was
persuaded; but I dare say Meg Hawkes had said rightly in telling me that
she was not fully in their secrets.
The first paroxysm of despair subsided into another state. All at once my
mind was filled with the idea of Meg Hawkes, her enterprise, and my chances
of escape.


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