The Wrong Box by Robert Louis Stevenson;Lloyd Osbourne
page 47 of 221 (21%)
page 47 of 221 (21%)
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now wanting only an idle hand to fire it off.
CHAPTER IV. The Magistrate in the Luggage Van The city of Winchester is famed for a cathedral, a bishop--but he was unfortunately killed some years ago while riding--a public school, a considerable assortment of the military, and the deliberate passage of the trains of the London and South-Western line. These and many similar associations would have doubtless crowded on the mind of Joseph Finsbury; but his spirit had at that time flitted from the railway compartment to a heaven of populous lecture-halls and endless oratory. His body, in the meanwhile, lay doubled on the cushions, the forage-cap rakishly tilted back after the fashion of those that lie in wait for nursery-maids, the poor old face quiescent, one arm clutching to his heart Lloyd's Weekly Newspaper. To him, thus unconscious, enter and exeunt again a pair of voyagers. These two had saved the train and no more. A tandem urged to its last speed, an act of something closely bordering on brigandage at the ticket office, and a spasm of running, had brought them on the platform just as the engine uttered its departing snort. There was but one carriage easily within their reach; and they had sprung into it, and the leader and elder already had his feet upon the floor, when he observed Mr Finsbury. 'Good God!' he cried. 'Uncle Joseph! This'll never do.' And he backed out, almost upsetting his companion, and once more closed |
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