Explore "Nevermore" by Rolf Boldrewood on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
It came at last -- the week -- the day -- the very night to which Lance had looked forward with such nervous anxiety. When compelled to pace the deck for the last morning, as he trusted, with his chained comrades, he barely concealed his exultation at the thought that on the morrow he might be a free man once more. He feared it would be visible in his countenance, in his very step, which in spite of himself was almost elastic, causing his chains to clank unusually. Indeed one of his fellows in adversity noticed it.
Keen to detect the slightest change from the stereotyped prison bearing, he growled out, 'What the -- -- are ye at, step-dancing with your bloomin' irons, ye -- -- fool? They'll clap the fourteen-pound clinks on ye if ye try the shakin' lay. Stoush it, ye -- -- '