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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"

Their voices sounded across
the interval between me and the firing-party. Why were they wasting
time? . . .
I could not distinguish their words, save that twice I heard the
Prince curse viciously. The hound (I told myself, shutting my teeth)
might have restrained his tongue for a few moments.
The voices ceased. In a long pause I heard the insects humming in
the grasses at my feet. Would the moment never come?
It came at last. A flash of light winked above the edge of my
bandage, and close upon it broke the roar and rattle of the
volley . . . Death? I put out my hands and groped for it.
Where was Death?
Nay, perhaps this _was_ Death? If so, what fools were men to fear
it! The hum of the insects had given place to silence--absolute
silence. If bullet had touched me, I had felt no pang at all.
I was standing, yes, surely I was standing . . . Slowly it broke on
me that I was unhurt, that they had fired wide, prolonging their
sport with me; and I tore away the bandage, crying out upon them to
finish their cruelty.
At a little distance sat the Princess watching me, her gun across her
knees.


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