[Micah Clarke by Arthur Conan Doyle]@TWC D-Link book
Micah Clarke

CHAPTER XIII
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Well, it was rare sport while it lasted, and sink me if I wouldn't do the same again if I had my time once more.

It is like sliding down a greased plank though, for at first a man goes slow enough, and thinks he can pull himself up, but presently he goes faster and faster, until he comes with a crash on to the rocks of ruin at the bottom.' 'And did you run through four thousand pounds a year ?' I exclaimed.
'Od's bodikins, man, you speak as if this paltry sum were all the wealth of the Indies.

Why, from Ormonde or Buckingham, with their twenty thousand, down to ranting Dicky Talbot, there was not one of my set who could not have bought me out.

Yet I must have my coach and four, my town house, my liveried servants, and my stable full of horses.

To be in the mode I must have my poet, and throw him a handful of guineas for his dedication.


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