Raffles was a burglar. I had helped him to
commit one burglary, therefore I was a burglar, too. Yet I could
stand and warm myself by his fire, and watch him empty his
pockets, as though we had done nothing wonderful or wicked!
My blood froze. My heart sickened. My brain whirled. How I had
liked this villain! How I had admired him! Now my liking and
admiration must turn to loathing and disgust. I waited for the
change. I longed to feel it in my heart. But--I longed and I
waited in vain!
I saw that he was emptying his pockets; the table sparkled with
their hoard. Rings by the dozen, diamonds by the score;
bracelets, pendants, aigrettes, necklaces, pearls, rubies,
amethysts, sapphires; and diamonds always, diamonds in
everything, flashing bayonets of light, dazzling me--blinding
me--making me disbelieve because I could no longer forget. Last
of all came no gem, indeed, but my own revolver from an inner
pocket. And that struck a chord. I suppose I said something--my
hand flew out. I can see Raffles now, as he looked at me once
more with a high arch over each clear eye. I can see him pick
out the cartridges with his quiet, cynical smile, before he would
give me my pistol back again.
"You mayn't believe it, Bunny," said he, "but I never carried a
loaded one before. On the whole I think it gives one confidence.
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