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Doyle, Arthur Conan, Sir, 1859-1930

"Sir Nigel"

"
"Nay, I am no judge of that, and I spoke out of no discourtesy.
What of the man?"
"He has flouted me, Nigel, and I would have revenge."
"What--on that poor twisted creature?"
"I tell you that he has flouted me!"
"But how?"
"I should have thought that a true cavalier would have flown to my
aid, withouten all these questions. But I will tell you, since I
needs must. Know then that he was one of those who came around me
and professed to be my own. Then, merely because he thought that
there were others who were as dear to me as himself he left me,
and now he pays court to Maude Twynham, the little freckle-faced
hussy in his village."
"But how has this hurt you, since he was no man of thine?"
"He was one of my men, was he not? And he has made game of me to
his wench. He has told her things about me. He has made me
foolish in her eyes. Yes, yes, I can read it in her saffron face
and in her watery eyes when we meet at the church door on Sundays.
She smiles--yes, smiles at me! Nigel, go to him! Do not slay
him, nor even wound him, but lay his face open with thy riding-
whip, and then come back to me and tell me how I can serve you."
Nigel's face was haggard with the strife within, for desire ran
hot in every vein, and yet reason shrank with horror. "By Saint
Paul! Edith," he cried, "I see no honor nor advancement of any
sort in this thing which you have asked me to do.


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