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St. Ives, Being the Adventures of a French Prisoner in England by Robert Louis Stevenson
page 13 of 373 (03%)
grow at its own rate; to move just so fast, and not by a hair's-
breadth any faster, than the inclination of her heart. I was the
man, and yet I was passive, tied by the foot in prison. I could
not go to her; I must cast a spell upon her at each visit, so that
she should return to me; and this was a matter of nice management.
I had done it the last time--it seemed impossible she should not
come again after our interview; and for the next I had speedily
ripened a fresh plan. A prisoner, if he has one great disability
for a lover, has yet one considerable advantage: there is nothing
to distract him, and he can spend all his hours ripening his love
and preparing its manifestations. I had been then some days upon a
piece of carving,--no less than the emblem of Scotland, the Lion
Rampant. This I proceeded to finish with what skill I was
possessed of; and when at last I could do no more to it (and, you
may be sure, was already regretting I had done so much), added on
the base the following dedication. -


A LA BELLE FLORA
LE PRISONNIER RECONNAISSANT
A. D. ST. Y. D. K.


I put my heart into the carving of these letters. What was done
with so much ardour, it seemed scarce possible that any should
behold with indifference; and the initials would at least suggest
to her my noble birth. I thought it better to suggest: I felt
that mystery was my stock-in-trade; the contrast between my rank
and manners, between my speech and my clothing, and the fact that
she could only think of me by a combination of letters, must all
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