Wylder's Hand by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu
page 487 of 664 (73%)
page 487 of 664 (73%)
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luck which took him altogether by surprise.
And to crown all, Miss Radie had grown tired of keeping her own secret, and must needs bring to light the buried disgraces which all concerned were equally interested in hiding away for ever. Stanley Lake's position, if all were known, was at this moment formidable enough. But he had been fifty times over, during his brief career, in scrapes of a very menacing kind; once or twice, indeed, of the most alarming nature. His temper, his craft, his impetus, were always driving him into projects and situations more or less critical. Sometimes he won, sometimes he failed; but his audacious energy hitherto had extricated him. The difficulties of his present situation were, however, appalling, and almost daunted his semi-diabolical energies. From Rachel to Dorcas, from Dorcas to the attorney, and from him to Dutton, and back again, he rambled in the infernal litany he muttered over the inauspicious tarn, among the enclosing banks and undulations, and solitary and lonely woods. 'Lake Avernus,' said a hollow voice behind him, and a long grisly hand was laid on his shoulder. A cold breath of horror crept from his brain to his heel, as he turned about and saw the large, blanched features and glassy eyes of Uncle Lorne bent over him. 'Oh, Lake Avernus, is it?' said Lake, with an angry sneer, and raising his hat with a mock reverence. |
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