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Doyle, Arthur Conan, Sir, 1859-1930

"The Doings of Raffles Haw"


"Try that Damascus settee," said the master of the house, as he threw
himself into a rocking-chair. "It is from the Sultan's upholsterer.
The Turks have a very good notion of comfort. I am a confirmed smoker
myself, Mr. McIntyre, so I have been able, perhaps, to check my
architect here more than in most of the other departments. Of pictures,
for example, I know nothing, as you would very speedily find out. On a
tobacco, I might, perhaps, offer an opinion. Now these"--he drew out
some long, beautifully-rolled, mellow-coloured cigars--"these are really
something a little out of the common. Do try one."
Robert lit the weed which was offered to him, and leaned back
luxuriously amid his cushions, gazing through the blue balmy fragrant
cloud-wreaths at the extraordinary man in the dirty pea-jacket who
spoke of millions as another might of sovereigns. With his pale face,
his sad, languid air, and his bowed shoulders, it was as though he were
crushed down under the weight of his own gold. There was a mute
apology, an attitude of deprecation in his manner and speech, which was
strangely at variance with the immense power which he wielded.
To Robert the whole whimsical incident had been intensely interesting
and amusing.


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