Support the Monkey! Tell All your Friends and Teachers
We are through the village, up the hill, and down the hill, and on
the low watery grounds. Suddenly, the postilions exchange speech
with animated gesticulation, and the horses are pulled up, almost
on their haunches. We are pursued? “Ho! Within the carriage there.
Speak then!” “What is it?” asks Mr. Lorry, looking out at window.
“How many did they say?” “I do not understand you.” “-At the
last post. How many to the Guillotine to-day?”
“Fifty-two.” “I said so! A brave number! My fellow-citizen here
would have it forty-two; ten more heads are worth having. The
Guillotine goes handsomely. I love it. Hi forward. Whoop!” The
night comes on dark. He moves more; he is beginning to revive,
and to speak intelligibly; he thinks they are still together; he asks
him, by his name, what he has in his hand. O pity us, kind Heaven,
and help us! Look out, look out, and see if we are pursued.
The wind is rushing after us, and the clouds are flying after us, and
the moon is plunging after us, and the whole wild night is in
pursuit of us; but, so far, we are pursued by nothing else.