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Doyle, Arthur Conan, Sir, 1859-1930

"The White Company"

But hark, Sir John,
what is amiss with the prince?"
Whilst Chandos had been conversing with the two knights a
continuous stream of suitors had been ushered in, adventurers
seeking to sell their swords and merchants clamoring over some
grievance, a ship detained for the carriage of troops, or a tun
of sweet wine which had the bottom knocked out by a troop of
thirsty archers. A few words from the prince disposed of each
case, and, if the applicant liked not the judgment, a quick
glance from the prince's dark eyes sent him to the door with the
grievance all gone out of him. The younger ruler had sat
listlessly upon his stool with the two puppet monarchs enthroned
behind him, but of a sudden a dark shadow passed over his face,
and he sprang to his feet in one of those gusts of passion which
were the single blot upon his noble and generous character.
"How now, Don Martin de la Carra?" he cried. "How now, sirrah?
What message do you bring to us from our brother of Navarre?"
The new-comer to whom this abrupt query had been addressed was a
tall and exceedingly handsome cavalier who had just been ushered
into the apartment.


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