I said, no; that, with every year or two, I heard
that Mr. Layard had found a palace at Nineveh, but that
I had never heard of one's being lost.
"They don't tell of it, sir. Sometimes I think they
do not know themselves. Does not that seem possible?"
And the poor man repeated this question with such
eagerness, that, in spite of my anger at being bored by
him, my heart really warmed toward him. "I really think
they do not know. I have never seen one word in the
papers about it. Now, they would have put something in
the papers,--do you not think they would? If they knew
it themselves, they would."
"Knew what?" said I, really startled out of my
determination to snub him.
"Knew where the palace is,--knew how it was lost."
By this time, of course, I supposed he was crazy.
But a minute more dispelled that notion; and I beg the
reader to relieve his mind from it. This man knew
perfectly well what he was talking about, and never, in
the whole narration, showed any symptom of mania,--a
matter on which I affect to speak with the intelligence
of the "experts" indeed.
After a little of this fencing with each other, in
which he satisfied himself that my ignorance was not
affected, he took a sudden resolution, as if it were a
relief to him to tell me the whole story.
"It was years on years ago," said he.
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