Paul Clifford — Volume 03Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
General
Paul Clifford — Volume 03
Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
Brigands and robbers -- Fiction
Our strangers seemed by no means displeased with the evident and
immediate impression they had made. They stood in the most conspicuous
part of the room, enjoying among themselves a low conversation,
frequently broken by fits of laughter,--tokens, we need not add, of their
supereminently good breeding. The handsome figure of the youngest
stranger, and the simple and seemingly unconscious grace of his attitudes
were not, however, unworthy of the admiration he excited; and even his
laughter, rude as it really was, displayed so dazzling a set of teeth,
and was accompanied by such brilliant eyes, that before he had been ten
minutes in the room there was scarcely a young lady under thirty-nine not
disposed to fall in love with him.
Apparently heedless of the various remarks which reached their ears, our
strangers, after they had from their station sufficiently surveyed the
beauties of the ball, strolled arm-in-arm through the rooms. Having
sauntered through the ball and card rooms, they passed the door that led
to the entrance passage, and gazed, with other loiterers, upon the
new-comers ascending the stairs. Here the two younger strangers renewed
their whispered conversation, while the eldest, who was also the tallest
one, carelessly leaning against the wall, employed himself for a few
moments in thrusting his fingers through his hair. In finishing this
occupation, the peculiar state of his rules forced itself upon the
observation of our gentleman, who, after gazing for some moments on an
envious rent in the right ruffle, muttered some indistinct words, like
"the cock of that confounded pistol," and then tucked up the mutilated
ornament with a peculiarly nimble motion of the fingers of his left hand;
the next moment, diverted by a new care, the stranger applied his digital
members to the arranging and caressing of a remarkably splendid brooch,
set in the bosom of a shirt the rude texture of which formed a singular
contrast with the magnificence of the embellishment and the fineness of
the one ruffle suffered by our modern Hyperion to make its appearance
beneath his cinnamon-coloured coatsleeve. These little personal
arrangements completed, and a dazzling snuff-box released from the
confinement of a side-pocket, tapped thrice, and lightened of two pinches
of its titillating luxury, the stranger now, with the guardian eye of
friendship, directed a searching glance to the dress of his friends.
There all appeared meet for his strictest scrutiny, save, indeed, that
the supercilious-looking stranger having just drawn forth his gloves, the
lining of his coat-pocket which was rather soiled into the bargain--had
not returned to its internal station; the tall stranger, seeing this
little inelegance, kindly thrust three fingers with a sudden and light
dive into his friend's pocket, and effectually repulsed the forwardness
of the intrusive lining. The supercilious stranger no sooner felt the
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account