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Allen, Grant, 1848-1899

"What's Bred in the Bone"

Guy would take good care he never
subjected himself in future to that uncanny influence. One forgery
was enough. Henceforth he was adamant.
And yet? And yet he was going to seek out Nevitt; going to stand
face to face with that smiling villain again; going to tax him
with his crime; going to ask him what he meant by this double-dyed
treachery.
The landlord had told him where Nevitt was most likely to be found.
He followed that direction. At a gate that turned by the river-bank,
twenty minutes from the inn, a small boy was seated. He was
a Devonshire boy of the poorest moorland type, short, squat, and
thick set. As Guy reached the gate, the boy rose and opened it,
pulling his forelock twice or thrice, expectant of a ha'penny. "Has
anybody gone down here?" Guy asked, in an excited voice.
And the boy answered promptly, "Yes, thik there gentleman, what's
stoppin' at the Talbot Arms. And another gentleman, too; o'ny
t'other one come after and went t'other way round. A big zart o'
a gentleman wi' 'ands vit vor two. He axed me the zame question,
had anybody gone by. This is dree of 'ee as has come zince I've
been a zitting here."
Guy paid no attention to the second-named gentleman, with the hands
fit for two, or to his inquiries after who might have gone before
him.


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