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Updated: June 3, 2025
Laurence Stanninghame, who was well acquainted with the Alps, now gazed in wonder and admiration upon these snow-capped Titans whose white heads seemed to support the blue vault of heaven itself, to such dizzy heights did they soar.
We can hear any one coming," he said, returning. "And now, Stanninghame, listen carefully, and we'll talk out the scheme. If you're on, well and good; if you're dead off it, why, I told you I had read you, and you're not the man to let drop by word or hint to a living soul any of what has passed between us." "Quite right, Hazon. You never formed a safer judgment in your life."
"Au! they came forth to 'eat up' other tribes, not to spare such. They are dissatisfied." "They'd better have their own way," muttered Hazon, in English. "You are sacrificing all we have done and obtained this trip to an empty whim. How does that pan out, Stanninghame?" "I hate to go back on my word," was the reply; "still more to be bullied into it." "Well said!" declared Holmes warmly.
"Only bare veldt but a very few years ago, now a population of forty thousand mostly brokers." She laughed, and Lilith cut in: "I thought you were going to adopt the Carlylean definition of the people of England, Mr. Stanninghame." "Oh, that'll come in time. I only trust I may not hold on too long to come under its lash." "Let us hope none of us will," said Mrs. Falkner.
Formerly eager, sanguine, warm-hearted, glowing with good impulses; now indifferent, sceptical, with a heart of stone and the chronic sneer of a cynic. He was one of those men who seem born never to succeed. With everything in his favour apparently, Laurence Stanninghame never did succeed. Everything he touched seemed to go wrong.
Rainsford looked at him curiously. "Oh, bother it, Stanninghame, you're no worse off than the rest of us. We've got to lie low and hang on for a bit, and watch our chances." "Possibly you are right, Rainsford. No doubt you are. Still every donkey knows where his own saddle galls him." "Rather, old chap," replied the other, whose hat covered the total of his liability.
That he, Laurence Stanninghame, to whom the vast bulk of mankind represented a commingling of rogue and fool in about equal proportion, should ever come to render himself unsteady on his feet, and hardly responsible for the words which came from his brain, presented a picture so unutterably degraded and loathsome, that his mind recoiled from the barest contemplation of it.
Then it grew dark, and, the dim oil lamp being inadequate for reading purposes, Laurence went to sleep. "Afar in the desert I love to ride," sang Pringle, the South African bard. "Pringle was a liar, or a lunatic," quoth Laurence Stanninghame, to whom the passage was familiar, on opening his eyes next morning and looking around.
Yet Laurence Stanninghame, gazing upon him, recognized a natural dignity nay, a majesty enthroning this nearly naked savage such as he had never seen quite equalled in the aspect or deportment of any other living man. Clearly this was the king Tyisandhlu "The Strong Wind that burns from the North."
"Well, you seem to have got round them better than we did, Stanninghame," said Hazon, with a glance at the Express rifle and revolver wherewith the other was armed. "We have hardly been allowed so much as a stick." "So? Well, I've been teaching some of them to shoot. That may have had a little to do with it. In fact, I've been laying myself out to make thoroughly the best of the situation."
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