I saw nothing whatever,
yet I seemed to feel a presence, seemed to hear a faint footfall, seemed
to be aware of another human being standing close to me. Then I heard a
deep, resonant, healthy, pleasant-sounding voice ask:
"Brother in misfortune, who are you?"
I was past any impulse towards dissimulation or any belief in its utility.
"I am Andivius Hedulio."
"You are?" the big, cheerful male voice exclaimed. "You really are? You
amaze me! I am Galvius Crispinillus, lately and for many a year King of
the Highwaymen! Give me your hand!"
Now, whatever distaste I felt for giving my hand to such a criminal,
however great was my repugnance, however utterly I felt myself lost,
however certain I was of the inevitable doom hanging over me, however
short a respite I anticipated before my inescapable death, I was not fool
enough to antagonize my companion in misery, presumably a powerful and
ferocious brute. I held out my hand. His grasped it. Mine returned the
grip.
"Come this way!" he said. "This pit is damp and chilly, but even here a
bed of stale straw is better than the rock floor or the patches of mud on
it or the heaps of filth. I know every inch of this hole and I know the
least uncomfortable place to sit.
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