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The Passenger from Calais by Arthur Griffiths
page 47 of 237 (19%)
merry company. Our tables were laid almost adjoining, and there was no
conversation between us, except when the Colonel asked me with
contemptuous civility what wine I preferred. He did not talk to the
lady, or the merest commonplaces, for I was within earshot. But I made
an excellent dinner, I must confess. I had eaten nothing since Amiens.
Then I got back to my berth, where the bed was made. I threw myself on
to it, rejoiced at the prospect of getting a few hours' sleep while
Jules remained on the watch.

He was to call me a little before reaching Basle, and, like an ass
that I was, I fully relied on his doing so, believing him to be my
friend. Such friendship as his did not bear any great strain, as I
learnt presently to my great chagrin.

I slept heavily, but in fitful snatches, as a man does when constantly
disturbed by the whirr and whizzing of the train, the rattle and
jangle of wheels passing over ill-jointed points. After one of the
longest periods of unconsciousness I awoke, aroused by the complete
absence of noise. The train was at a standstill in some station and
making a very protracted halt.

Something moved me to lift the blind and look out, and I saw, not
without uneasiness, that we were at Basle. I thought I recognized the
station, but I soon made out for certain the name "Basilea" (Basle),
and saw the clock with the fingers at five-thirty. People were already
on the move, work-people, the thrifty, industrious Swiss, forestalling
time, travellers in twos and threes arriving and departing by the
early train through this great junction on the frontier of
Switzerland.

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