Of the King’s Treasure
kick, and came down with my breast upon the iron rails and the rest of me stuck out over the road. After that it was a small matter by comparison to wriggle across the seat on to the coach-top, and here for full five minutes I lay sweating like a horse, and with the trees and old Oliver and the whole environing landscape rushing round and swaying in my head. But when I picked up my senses, I settled down pretty comfortable in the seat, and began to look about me and consider. The first thing I set eyes upon was the dark figure on the box, bent over the horses, and though I could make out very little, for the moon was soon in jail again, the turn of his back seemed somehow familiar.
But now, when I had time to reflect, it appeared to me that I had run my neck into a damned foolish business. For here was the stage, with all the bloody marks of battle on it, and one dead body at least, as I could perceive, rolling about on top—here was the coach, I say, running straight for Dartford, with me seated there, like a
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