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St. Ives, Being the Adventures of a French Prisoner in England by Robert Louis Stevenson
page 67 of 373 (17%)
scents in darkness. This made me a second landmark, the ledge
being my first. I began accordingly to compute intervals of time:
so much to the ledge, so much again to the wallflower, so much more
below. If I were not at the bottom of the rock, I calculated I
must be near indeed to the end of the rope, and there was no doubt
that I was not far from the end of my own resources. I began to be
light-headed and to be tempted to let go,--now arguing that I was
certainly arrived within a few feet of the level and could safely
risk a fall, anon persuaded I was still close at the top and it was
idle to continue longer on the rock. In the midst of which I came
to a bearing on plain ground, and had nearly wept aloud. My hands
were as good as flayed, my courage entirely exhausted, and, what
with the long strain and the sudden relief, my limbs shook under me
with more than the violence of ague, and I was glad to cling to the
rope.

But this was no time to give way. I had (by God's single mercy)
got myself alive out of that fortress; and now I had to try to get
the others, my comrades. There was about a fathom of rope to
spare; I got it by the end, and searched the whole ground
thoroughly for anything to make it fast to. In vain: the ground
was broken and stony, but there grew not there so much as a bush of
furze.

'Now then,' thought I to myself, 'here begins a new lesson, and I
believe it will prove richer than the first. I am not strong
enough to keep this rope extended. If I do not keep it extended
the next man will be dashed against the precipice. There is no
reason why he should have my extravagant good luck. I see no
reason why he should not fall--nor any place for him to fall on but
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