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Quiller-Couch, Arthur Thomas, Sir, 1863-1944

"Memoirs of His Adventures At Home and Abroad and Particularly in the Island of Corsica: Beginning with the Year 1756"

Slowly, out of these ghostly wastes, the moon
lifted herself in full circle, and her rays, crossing the cope of
heaven, lit up a tall grey crag on the ridge above us, and the stem
of a white-withered bush hanging from it--an isolated mass which
(my companions told me) marked the summit of the ascent.
"The path leads round the base of it," said Stephanu. "We shall
reach it in another twenty minutes."
"But will it not be guarded?" I asked.
He hunched his shoulders. "The Prince is no general. A hundred
times our enemies might have destroyed us; but they prefer to leave
us alone. It is more humiliating."
Marc'antonio rode forward deep in thought, his chin sunk upon his
breast. At the summit, under the shadow of the great rock, he reined
up, and slewing himself about in his saddle addressed Stephanu again.
"As I remember, there is a track below which branches off to the
right, towards Nonza. It will take us wide of Olmeta and we can
strike down into the lowland somewhere between the two. The Princess
commands us to make for the north; so we shall be obeying her, and at
the same time we can bivouac close enough to take stock at sunrise
and, maybe, learn some news of the camp--yet not so close that our
horses can be heard, if by chance one should whinny.


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