Explore "A Secret Service" by William Le Queux on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
A bright July evening, a white dusty Italian road, and a fugitive from justice mounted upon a stout pony, with an outfit consisting of a well-filled canvas valise and a revolver.
The police were searching for me, and in consequence I had a few weeks before escaped from England, and set out upon a wandering journey eastward across Europe. I was in Emilia, lonely, tired, and dispirited, having left Piacenza at early morning and ridden on throughout the scorching day. It had, however, grown cooler, for which I was thankful. The wind had risen, blowing softly from mountain and from sea across the plains, through the pines of Pavia, and across the oak forests at the base of the Apennines.