[Clirr-devel] guided his

[Matzen <tes...@we...>]

Ine! How you threw them over! Two or three cracked heads, anyway--the
cowardly swine!" "Look here!" said Swithin suddenly; "which is my way to
the Goldene Alp?" The Hungarian replied, "But you are coming with me,
for a glass of wine?" Swithin looked at the ground. 'Not if I know it!'
he thought. "Ah!" said the Hungarian with dignity, "you do not wish for
my friendship!" 'Touchy beggar!' thought Swithin. "Of course," he
stammered, "if you put it in that way--" The Hungarian bowed, murmuring,
"Forgive me!" They had not gone a dozen steps before a youth, with a
beardless face and hollow cheeks, accosted them. "For the love of
Christ, gentlemen," he said, "help me!" "Are you a German?" asked
Boleskey. "Yes," said the youth. "Then you may rot!" "Master, look
here!" Tearing open his coat, the youth displayed his skin, and a
leather belt drawn tight round it. Again Swithin felt that desire to
take to his heels. He was filled with horrid forebodings--a sense of
perpending intimacy with things such as no gentleman had dealings with.
The Hungarian crossed himself. "Brother," he said to the youth, "come
you in!" Swithin looked at them askance, and followed. By a dim light
they groped their way up some stairs into a large room, into which the
moon was shining through a window bulging over the street. A lamp burned
low; there was a smell of spirits and tobacco, with a faint, peculiar
scent, as of rose leaves. In one corner stood a czymbal, in another a
great pile of newspapers. On the wall hung some old-fashioned pistols,
and a rosary of yellow beads. Everything w