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A Sentimental Journey Through France and Italy by Laurence Sterne
page 48 of 148 (32%)
and quiet movements; and I should have had an high opinion of the
postilion had he but stolen off with me in something like a pensive
pace.--On the contrary, as the mourner finished his lamentation,
the fellow gave an unfeeling lash to each of his beasts, and set
off clattering like a thousand devils.

I called to him as loud as I could, for heaven's sake to go slower:
--and the louder I called, the more unmercifully he galloped.--The
deuce take him and his galloping too--said I,--he'll go on tearing
my nerves to pieces till he has worked me into a foolish passion,
and then he'll go slow that I may enjoy the sweets of it.

The postilion managed the point to a miracle: by the time he had
got to the foot of a steep hill, about half a league from Nampont,-
-he had put me out of temper with him,--and then with myself, for
being so.

My case then required a different treatment; and a good rattling
gallop would have been of real service to me. -

- Then, prithee, get on--get on, my good lad, said I.

The postilion pointed to the hill.--I then tried to return back to
the story of the poor German and his ass--but I had broke the
clue,--and could no more get into it again, than the postilion
could into a trot.

- The deuce go, said I, with it all! Here am I sitting as candidly
disposed to make the best of the worst, as ever wight was, and all
runs counter.
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