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Uriah the Hittite Dolf Wyllarde

Uriah the Hittite

Dolf Wyllarde

Published January 31st 2012
ISBN : 9781458991096
Paperback
154 pages
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 About the Book 

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1904. Excerpt: ... CHAPTER XVIII He who will not haveMoreThis historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1904. Excerpt: ... CHAPTER XVIII He who will not have peace, God sends him war.--English Proverb. The Administrator stepped out of the writingroom quickly, through the ever-open window, tripped, and nearly fell headlong on the stoep. He looked down, as he caught the vine-clad pillar, to see what had nearly wrought his destruction. A man, a half-caste, lay huddled at his feet, in an attitude so like death that a stranger would have been deceived. Evelyn Gregory had seen that death-sleep before- he bent down closely, pushed the man over with his foot, and sniffed the heavy breath that came every thirty seconds or so through the open mouth. Then he stood up again, erect, at his full six feet three inches, and looked across the gardens of Government House, that seemed to drift away into glades of fainter and fainter colour, until it was only a green glow. His active eyes may have seen the vegetation, but they certainly saw something else--a picture inside his head rather than outside. After a second he raised his voice and called. Two Arabs answered the Administrators summons, on the principle that Saadat el basha (his Excellency) usually demanded strenuous tasks too heavy for one man. Gregory looked with steady, lidless eyes from them to the apparently lifeless body, and pointed to it with a curt gesture. Take that away, he said in his horribly underbreathed voice, and lay him somewhere to recover. He is not dead--he has been smoking ganja. He paused, looked down at the helpless body, and added three words whose bestial insult they could understand-- Ya ibn kelb (This is not even Malagasy--it is Arabic, and it conveys that your parentage was not all it might be with advantage to yourself.) The Arabs lifted the half-caste native, and carried him away out of range of G...