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Colonel de Warrenne attended to the snake first. He half-drew his sword and then slammed it back into the scabbard. No his sword was not for snakes, whatever his son might be. On the wall was a trophy of Afghan weapons, one of which was a sword that had played a prominent part on the occasion of the Colonel's winning of the Victoria Cross.
Edward and his horsemen, less and less in number each minute, still riding for the priory, straining every nerve to reach it; the others assailing them at every turn. The Earl of Warrenne, William of Valence, Guy of Lusignan, and Earl Bigod of Norwich, were separated from the rest of the band, and, despairing of attaining the prince again, rode across the low alluvial flats for Pevensey.
Sergeant Havlan soon found that he had little need to begin at the beginning with Damocles de Warrenne in the matter of riding, fencing or boxing, and was unreasonably annoyed thereat. In time, it became the high ambition and deep desire of Dam to overcome Sergeant Havlan's son in battle with the gloves.
As she turned to go, with a bitter sigh, she asked in the hopeless tone of one who knows the waste of words: "You will not repent I mean relent and come to the christening of your only son this afternoon, Sir?" "Good morning, Nurse," observed Colonel Matthew Devon de Warrenne, and resumed his hurried pacing of the verandah.
And Damocles de Warrenne blessed the Divisional Boxing Tournament, Assault-at-Arms, and, particularly, the All-India Heavy-Weight Championship. Occupation, labour, anodyne.... Work and deep Sleep. Fighting to keep the Snake at bay. No, fighting to get away from it there was no keeping it at bay nothing but shrieking collapse when It came....
Damocles de Warrenne knelt on the edge of the eight-foot drop, turned round, swayed, fell, struck the sloping ledge, rolled off it, fell, struck the next sloping ledge, fell thirty feet arousing an astounded ibex en route and landed in a queer heap on a third shelf, with a few broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, broken ankles, and a fractured thigh.
She had never liked the Colonel nor considered him "good enough" for her tender, dainty darling, "nearly three times her age and no better than he ought to be". "Name?" snarled Colonel Matthew Devon de Warrenne. "Name the little beast? Call him what you like, and then drown him."
The De Warrennes arms on all house-doors indicated that the house was duly licensed. This grant was given to the De Warrennes by King John who is said to have bestowed it in recompense for breaking the head of one of the family during a game of "check" in which the King was conquered. He, in vexation, struck De Warrenne with the board.
I dare not let them know there is a D. de Warrenne in the regiment and he'd never get it either he's probably Smith or Jones or Robinson now. If some horrid Sergeant called out 'Trooper D. de Warrenne, when distributing letters, Dam would never answer to the name he thinks he has eternally disgraced, and disgrace it further by dragging it in the mire of the ranks. How can people be such snobs?
"Directly she told me I guessed at once that he had met Dam and either insulted or cut him, and that poor Dam, in his bitter humour and self-loathing had used his own presence as a punishment and had made the Haddock walk with him! Imagine the company of Damocles de Warrenne being anything but an ennobling condescension! Fancy Dam's society a horrible injury and disgrace!
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