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Doyle, Arthur Conan, Sir, 1859-1930

"The Stark Munro Letters"

He was an elderly
man--his hair not quite white yet, but well past mouse
colour. His beard and moustache, however, were of a
yellowish brown, and his face all puckered and shot with
wrinkles, spare and yet puffy, with hanging bags under
his singular light blue eyes.
"By God, Dr. Munro, sir," said he, as he shook my
hand. "I take it as very kind of you that you should
accept an informal invitation. I do, sir, by God!"
This sentence was, as it proved, a very typical one,
for he nearly always began and ended each with an oath,
while the centre was, as a rule, remarkable for a
certain suave courtesy. So regular was his formula that
I may omit it and you suppose it, every time that he
opened his mouth. A dash here and there will remind you.
It's been my practice, Dr. Munro, sir, to make
friends with my neighbours through life; and some strange
neighbours I have had. By ----, sir, humble as you see
me, I have sat with a general on my right, and an admiral
on my left, and my toes up against a British ambassador.
That was when I commanded the armed transport Hegira
in the Black Sea in '55. Burst up in the great gale in
Balaclava Bay, sir, and not as much left as you could
pick your teeth with."
There was a strong smell of whisky in the room, and
an uncorked bottle upon the mantelpiece. The captain
himself spoke with a curious stutter, which I put down at
first to a natural defect; but his lurch as he, turned
back to his armchair showed me that he had had as much as
he could carry.


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