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Doyle, Arthur Conan, Sir, 1859-1930

"The Mystery of Cloomber"

"Thy blessed will be
done!"
I could see through the crack that Corporal Rufus Smith's face had
turned to a sickly yellow shade, and that he was wiping the perspiration
from his brow.
"It's like my luck!" he said. "After all these years, to come when I
have got a snug billet."
"Never mind, my lad," the general said, rising, and squaring his
shoulders like a man who braces himself up for an effort. "Be it
what it may we'll face it as British soldiers should. D'ye remember at
Chillianwallah, when you had to run from your guns to our square, and
the Sikh horse came thundering down on our bayonets? We didn't flinch
then, and we won't flinch now. It seems to me that I feel better than I
have done for years. It was the uncertainty that was killing me."
"And the infernal jingle-jangle," said the corporal. "Well, we all go
together--that's some consolation."
"Good-bye, West," said the general. "Be a good husband to Gabriel, and
give my poor wife a home. I don't think she will trouble you long.
Good-bye! God bless you!"
"Look here, General," I said, peremptorily breaking off a piece of wood
to make communication more easy, "this sort of thing has been going on
too long. What are these hints and allusions and innuendoes? It is
time we had a little plain speaking. What is it you fear? Out with it!
Are you in dread of these Hindoos? If you are, I am able, on my
father's authority, to have them arrested as rogues and vagabonds."
"No, no, that would never do," he answered, shaking his head.


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