Explore "Allan Quatermain" by H. Rider Haggard on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
A week had passed since the funeral of my poor boy Harry, and one evening I was in my room walking up and down and thinking, when there was a ring at the outer door. Going down the steps I opened it myself, and in came my old friends Sir Henry Curtis and Captain John Good, RN. They entered the vestibule and sat themselves down before the wide hearth, where, I remember, a particularly good fire of logs was burning.
"It is very kind of you to come round," I said by way of making a remark; "it must have been heavy walking in the snow."