Етюд у багряних тонах

A Flight for Life.

           Outsideallwascalmandquiet. Thenightwasfine,andthestarsweretwinklingbrightlyoverhead. Thelittlefrontgardenlaybeforethefarmer’seyesboundedbythefenceandgate,butneithertherenorontheroadwasanyhumanbeingtobeseen. Withasighofrelief,Ferrierlookedtorightandtoleft,untilhappeningtoglancestraightdownathisownfeethesawtohisastonishmentamanlyingflatuponhisfaceupontheground,witharmsandlegsallasprawl. 

           Sounnervedwasheatthesightthatheleanedupagainstthewallwithhishandtohisthroattostiflehisinclinationtocallout. Hisfirstthoughtwasthattheprostratefigurewasthatofsomewoundedordyingman,butashewatchedithesawitwrithealongthegroundandintothehallwiththerapidityandnoiselessnessofaserpent. Oncewithinthehousethemansprangtohisfeet,closedthedoor,andrevealedtotheastonishedfarmerthefiercefaceandresoluteexpressionofJeffersonHope. 

           “GoodGod!”gaspedJohnFerrier. “Howyouscaredme! Whatevermadeyoucomeinlikethat.” 

           “Givemefood,”theothersaid,hoarsely. “Ihavehadnotimeforbiteorsupforeight-and-fortyhours.” Heflunghimselfuponthe21coldmeatandbreadwhichwerestilllyinguponthetablefromhishost’ssupper,anddevoureditvoraciously. “DoesLucybearupwell?”heasked,whenhehadsatisfiedhishunger. 

           “Yes.Shedoesnotknowthedanger,”herfatheranswered. 

           “Thatiswell. Thehouseiswatchedoneveryside. ThatiswhyIcrawledmywayuptoit. Theymaybedarnedsharp,butthey’renotquitesharpenoughtocatchaWashoehunter.” 

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Roboto Lora
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