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Farnol, Jeffery, 1878-1952

"The Amateur Gentleman"


Now, as the gentleman lounged there against the tree, he switched
languidly at a bluebell that happened to grow within his reach, cut
it down, and with gentle, lazy taps beat it slowly into nothingness,
which done, he drew out his watch, glanced at it, frowned, and was
in the act of thrusting it back into his fob when the hedge opposite
was parted suddenly and a man came through. A wretched being he
looked, dusty, unkempt, unshorn, whose quick, bright eyes gleamed in
the thin oval of his pallid face. At sight of this man the
gentleman's lassitude vanished, and he stepped quickly forward.
"Well," he demanded, "did you find her?"
"Yes, sir."
"And a cursed time you've been about it."
"Annersley is further than I thought, sir, and--"
"Pah! no matter, give me her answer," and the gentleman held out a
slim white hand.
"She had no time to write, sir," said the man, "but she bid me tell
you--"
"Damnation!" exclaimed the gentleman, glancing towards the inn,
"not here, come further down the lane," and with the word he turned
and strode away, with the man at his heels.
"Annersley," said Barnabas, as he watched them go; "Annersley.


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