Tuesday, 25 October 2011

A wee crack

…and then the bearded man and I were alone in the silent gallery, with the powder smoke still wraithing in the sunbeams from the glass roof, and the blood wet on the planks. He pulled a flask from his pocket and handed it to me.
      “Tak’ your time,” says he, “and we’ll have a wee crack, you and I.” He was a nondescript fellow, in his shabby suit, but with an eye bright and unwinking as a bird’s questing over me and missing nothing, and while he wasn’t above middle height I guessed that anyone who ran into him would come away bruised.

Flashman and the Angel of the Lord, p.163, Harper Collins, 1995.

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