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Updated: May 23, 2025
We stared at the farmer while he raved, lit his cigar, and then, in the torrent of his passion, let it out again. As we dipped to the hollow in which Wimille lay, passing carts laden with iron ore, Sharp became more excited. "We cannot be far off now. He's lying at one of the iron-masters' houses, half a mile beyond this Wimille. Let's stop: I must have some brandy-and-water."
Nothing worthy of note presents itself between Calais and Boulogne, except the little village of Wimille, which made some impression upon my mind, as being so much prettier and so much more village-like than any other through which we had passed, and near here perished the unfortunate æronauts Pilatre and Romain, falling from their balloon when at a prodigious height from the ground and in sight of many spectators.
I've got d d serious business on hand; and if you can tell me how to get to Marquise, tell me straight off, and ha' done with it and I shall be obliged to you." With this he finished his second tankard of ale. Hanger, feeling some responsibility about the man he had introduced, approached him with marked urbanity, and offered his services "I know Marquise and Wimille."
The stranger was glad of our company, for the reason, which he bluntly explained, that we might be of some use to him; for the place was not exactly at Marquise nor at Wimille. We hired a carriage, and were soon clattering along the Calais road, muffled to our noses to face the icy wind. The stranger soon communicated his name, saying, "My name is Reuben Sharp, and I don't care who knows it.
"Wimille! that's it!" the stranger cried. "Right you are. That's my direction. This is business. Yes, between Marquise and Wimille." "Precisely," Hanger continued, as we proceeded towards the door. I heard the major growl between his teeth in our rear "Hanger's got him well in tow."
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