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Runciman, James, 1852-1891

"The Chequers Being the Natural History of a Public-House, Set Forth in a Loafer's Diary"

I only know that when this spell is over I
shall have some corrections to address to the people who stick up
institutes, and organise charitable funds. I can offer myself as the
horrid example, if they like, and that should impress them."
Then my musings were checked, for I had to cross a wooden bridge over
the odious stream that poisoned Teddy, and the fog was like flying
gruel. Carefully I picked my way over the bridge, and aimed for the
dark, narrow lane that led towards my abode. I remember thinking, "What
a place this would be if we were troubled with footpads!" Then came a
pause. Now you know how sound travels in a fog? I saw two posts standing
shadowily before me; then the posts appeared to fade away, or to be
closed up in the brown haze; then I distinctly heard a whisper, "He
ain't got her with him. You come after me." I was stooping, and peering
to find out who whispered. Wrench! I grasped at my neck. Crack! A sound
like the clanking of chains rattled in my head; a flash of many coloured
flame shot before my eyes; a hundred memories came vividly to me, and I
thought I was a boy again, and then I remember no more, until some voice
said, "Feelin' better?"
I was a little sick, and my head was bleeding, but otherwise I had
suffered no harm, and I could walk.


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