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The Journey

           "Andthatothergentleman?

           "Hewillnotgotoday,"saidd’Artagnan;"buthere,I’llpayyouforustwo."

           "Inthatcaseletusgo,"saidtheshipmaster.

           "Letusgo,"repeatedd’Artagnan.

           HeleapedwithPlanchetintotheboat,andfiveminutesaftertheywereonboard.Itwastime;fortheyhadscarcelysailedhalfaleague,whend’Artagnansawaflashandheardadetonation.Itwasthecannonwhichannouncedtheclosingoftheport.

           Hehadnowleisuretolooktohiswound.Fortunately,asd’Artagnanhadthought,itwasnotdangerous.Thepointoftheswordhadtouchedarib,andglancedalongthebone.Stillfurther,hisshirthadstucktothewound,andhehadlostonlyafewdropsofblood.

           D’Artagnanwaswornoutwithfatigue.Amattresswaslaiduponthedeckforhim.Hethrewhimselfuponit,andfellasleep.

           Onthemorrow,atbreakofday,theywerestillthreeorfourleaguesfromthecoastofEngland.Thebreezehadbeensolightallnight,theyhadmadebutlittleprogress.Atteno’clockthevesselcastanchorintheharborofDover,andathalfpasttend’ArtagnanplacedhisfootonEnglishland,crying,"HereIamatlast!"

           Butthatwasnotall;theymustgettoLondon.InEnglandthepostwaswellserved.D’ArtagnanandPlanchettookeachaposthorse,andapostillionrodebeforethem.Inafewhourstheywereinthecapital.

           D’ArtagnandidnotknowLondon;hedidnotknowawordofEnglish;buthewrotethenameofBuckinghamonapieceofpaper,andeveryonepointedouttohimthewaytotheduke’shotel.

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