A Sentimental Journey Through France and Italy by Laurence Sterne
page 48 of 148 (32%)
page 48 of 148 (32%)
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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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