Wouldn't
I get off and have a bit of cold wild duck and a glass of sherry?
Certainly I would. So I gave my horse to the groom and went in. I had
hardly cut the first rich red slice from the breast of a fat teal, when
I heard a light step in the passage, and in walked my man Dick. You
remember him, reader. The man we saw five and twenty years ago on
Dartmoor, combining with William Lee to urge the unhappy George Hawker
on to ruin and forgery, which circumstance, remember, I knew nothing of
at this time. The same man I had picked up footsore and penniless in
the bush sixteen years ago, and who had since lived with me, a most
excellent and clever servant--the best I ever had. This man now came
into Major Buckley's parlour, hat in hand, looking a little foolish,
and when I saw him my knife and fork were paralyzed with astonishment.
"Why, what the Dickens" (I used that strong expression) "brings you
here, my lad?"
"I went up to Hipsley's about the colt," he said, "and when I got home
I found you were gone off unexpectedly; so I thought it better to come
after you and tell you all about it. He won't take less than thirty-five.
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