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Fielding, Henry

"The History Of Tom Jones, A Foundling"

And who is
this human being? A rascal who hath injured and insulted me without
provocation. But is not revenge forbidden by Heaven? Yes, but it is
enjoined by the world. Well, but shall I obey the world in
opposition to the express commands of Heaven? Shall I incur the Divine
displeasure rather than be called- ha- coward- scoundrel?- I'll think
no more; I am resolved, and must fight him."
The clock had now struck twelve, and every one in the house were
in their beds, except the centinel who stood to guard Northerton, when
Jones softly opening his door, issued forth in pursuit of his enemy,
of whose place of confinement he had received a perfect description
from the drawer. It is not easy to conceive a much more tremendous
figure than he now exhibited. He had on, as we have said, a
light-coloured coat, covered with streams of blood. His face, which
missed that very blood, as well as twenty ounces more drawn from him
by the surgeon, was pallid. Round his head was a quantity of
bandage, not unlike a turban. In the right hand he carried a sword,
and in the left a candle. So that the bloody Banquo was not worthy
to be compared to him. In fact, I believe a more dreadful apparition
was never raised in a church-yard, nor in the imagination of any
good people met in a winter evening over a Christmas fire in
Somersetshire.
When the centinel first saw our heroe approach, his hair began
gently to lift up his grenadier cap; and in the same instant his knees
fell to blows with each other.


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