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Griffiths, Arthur, 1838-1908

"The Passenger from Calais"

I followed, keeping him in sight on the platform,
where, by and by, I saw him, hat in hand, bowing obsequiously before a
passenger who alighted from the incoming train. It would have been
enough for me had I not already known Lord Blackadder by sight. They
walked back together to the hotel, and so, at a certain distance, did
I.
I was lounging about outside the house, wondering what would happen
next, when a waiter came out to me bearing a card, which he tendered,
bowing low, more in deference to the card, as I thought, than to me.
"Earl of Blackadder" was the name engraved, and written just below in
pencil were the words, "would like to speak to Colonel Annesley at
once."
"Well, I've no objection," I began, stiffly. I thought the summons a
trifle too peremptory. "Where is he?"
The waiter pointed back to the hotel, and I saw a white, evil face
glowering at me from a window on the ground floor of the hotel. The
very look on it stirred my bile. It was an assumption of superiority,
of concentrated pride and exaggerated authority, as though everyone
must yield to his lightest wish and humble himself in the dust before
him.


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