Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 22, 2025
Doubtless he was shouting but the roar of the fire and the howling of the mob smothered every sound. It was Rofflash his true character revealed, nerve stricken, a coward at heart. Yet he was in no immediate danger. The fire could not reach him. The only thing he had to fear was the rising tide should it chance to wash over the abutment and sweep him off his feet.
It was a ruse, a worked out design between Sally and Rofflash to secure Vane and spite Lavinia whom she hated more than enough. Meanwhile Lavinia was drawing near. Mistress Salisbury had shifted her position and had manoeuvred so as she could glance down the path to St. James's Palace and perforce Vane had his back towards it.
An irregularly shaped hole immediately below the window showed where Vane had alighted. Footprints distinct enough indicated the direction taken. "If you're not satisfied search the house." "I'll take your word. Who's your friend? You wouldn't lift your little finger to save a stranger." "Who's the girl?" Sally parried in a flash. "What's she like?" Rofflash had sharp wits.
There were many such who had been with Marlborough and had returned to their native country to earn their living by their wits and by hiring out their swords. The fellow who called himself Jeremy Rofflash had not time to draw his sword; the fist of the man he had thought to frighten had shot out swift as an arrow, catching him between the eyes and tumbling him backwards.
Jeremy's plan was so much to her taste that in a measure she was able to control herself, though her arms, rigid by her sides, and her tightly clenched hands showed that her nerves were still unstrung. "You see, mistress, you did me an injustice," growled Rofflash. "I have worked for you, aye and right well. What do I get for doing it?"
I'll wager her fifty guineas has swollen to a hundred when next you see her. With traffickers in virgins the price grows as rapidly as Jonah's gourd." "Aye, it may be so. Well, what then? Have you got a plan?" Captain Jeremy Rofflash placed a dirty forefinger by the side of his nose, slowly closed one eye and a greasy smile widened his thick, red moist lips. "Have I a plan, sir?
I'd take her and willing." "That I'll swear you would. Wait till I call on you. What of that pair by the pond? Curse it, but I believe they're our quarries. She has two arms round his neck. The wanton baggage! And she once protested she loved me! On to 'em, Rofflash. Engage the fellow while I handle the wench. Eh? Why look ye there, captain. He's thrown her off. He's going. A tiff I'll swear.
By the time Rofflash was at the bridge the obstructing waggon had been got out of the way. Dorrimore's coach was drawn to one side and Dorrimore himself was striding impatiently up and down, occasionally refreshing himself with a pinch of snuff and indulging in oaths more or less elegant. "Where the devil have you been, Rofflash?" he cried, testily. "And where the devil's the girl?"
Rofflash made her a profound bow and smiled mockingly. "Have your own way, mistress. What about this? Something more in your line, I'll warrant." He thrust his hand beneath the upper part of his long flapped waistcoat and drew out a necklace. The pearls of which it was composed were suffused with a pinkish tinge, the massive gold clasp gleamed in the lamplight.
Rofflash groped his way over the slimy floor to a small door which he knew opened on to an abutment between two arches. He only did this by feeling the wall as he went. He hoped when outside to hail a passing wherry. At any rate it was unlikely his hiding place would be discovered by any of the mob.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking