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Recollections of Geoffrey Hamlyn by Henry Kingsley
page 49 of 779 (06%)
towards the little village where he had left his horse in an outhouse,
fearing to trust him among the dangerous bogs which he had himself to
cross to gain the rendezvous at Taw Steps.

He rapidly cleared the moor, and soon gained the little grey street,
lying calm and peaceful beneath the bright winter moon, which was only
now and then obscured for a moment by the last flying clouds of the
late storm hurrying after their fellows. The rill which ran brawling
loud through the village, swollen by the late rains, at length forced
on his perception that he was fearfully thirsty, and that his throat
was parched and dry.

"This is the way men feel in hell, I think," said he. "Lord! let me get
a drink while I can. The rich man old Jack reads about couldn't get one
for all his money."

He walked up to a stone horse-trough, a little off the road. He stooped
to drink, and started back with an oath. What pale, wild, ghastly face
was that, looking at him out of the cool calm water? Not his own,
surely? He closed his eyes, and, having drunk deep, walked on
refreshed. He reached the outhouse where his horse was tied, and, as he
was leading the impatient animal forth, one of the children within
the cottage adjoining woke up and began to cry. He waited still a
moment, and heard the mother arise and soothe it; then a window
overhead opened, and a woman said--

"Is that you, Mr. Hawker?"

"Aye," said he, "it's me. Come for the horse."

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