Wednesday, 13 July 2011

Scotch nemesis

There was one quiet Lancer, though, a black-whiskered Scotch nemesis who said never a word, and played the bull fiddle for his recreation. He caught my eye then, and again fifteen years later when he led the march to Peking, the most terrible killing gentleman you every saw: Hope Grant.

Flashman and the Mountain of Light, p.274, Fontana Paperback edition, 1991.

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