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Hope, Anthony, 1863-1933

"The Prisoner of Zenda"


I went back to Flavia and Sapt, pondering on the strangeness of the man.
Wicked men I have known in plenty, but Rupert Hentzau remains unique in
my experience. And if there be another anywhere, let him be caught and
hanged out of hand. So say I!
"He's very handsome, isn't he?" said Flavia.
Well, of course, she didn't know him as I did; yet I was put out, for I
thought his bold glances would have made her angry. But my dear Flavia
was a woman, and so--she was not put out. On the contrary, she thought
young Rupert very handsome--as, beyond question, the ruffian was.
"And how sad he looked at his friend's death!" said she.
"He'll have better reason to be sad at his own," observed Sapt, with a
grim smile.
As for me, I grew sulky; unreasonable it was perhaps, for what better
business had I to look at her with love than had even Rupert's lustful
eyes? And sulky I remained till, as evening fell and we rode up to
Tarlenheim, Sapt having fallen behind in case anyone should be
following us, Flavia, riding close beside me, said softly, with a little
half-ashamed laugh:
"Unless you smile, Rudolf, I cry. Why are you angry?"
"It was something that fellow said to me," said I, but I was smiling as
we reached the door and dismounted.
There a servant handed me a note: it was unaddressed.


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