Explore "The Island" by Richard Whiteing on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
No better opportunity could have been desired. His Excellency was very chatty that night, in mere reaction of mood, perhaps, against the prevailing gloom of the Island. We met on the lawn; and he was as full of glowing courtesies, before passing indoors to his supper, as the gracious Duncan on another occasion, while he ran the same risk of deadly intent against the peace that was his very life. I, knowing what was making ready for him, could not but feel like a Thane of Cawdor, while Victoria, I am sorry to say, filled the part of the lady of the castle. She watched me, even more than she watched him, and whenever I showed symptoms of recoil from the dreadful venture, she impelled me by a look.
‘We're getting better, sir,' he said cheerily when he had finished his meal, ‘but it's a slow cure. I'm going to fine some of 'em to-morrow for cutting the trees. It'll wake 'em up, and give 'em something else to think about. Not but what things might have been worse; only three new love-knots, according to my reckoning, four initials with crown and anchor, two hearts with arrows, one ditto without -- and I think I've been all over the place.'