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For how long he walked silent by his companion Herrick had no guess.
The clouds rolled suddenly away; the orgasm was over; he found himself
placid with the placidity of despair; there returned to him the power of
commonplace speech; and he heard with surprise his own voice say: 'What
a lovely evening!'
'Is it not?' said Attwater. 'Yes, the evenings here would be very
pleasant if one had anything to do. By day, of course, one can shoot.'
'
'
You shoot?' asked Herrick.
Yes, I am what you would call a fine shot,' said Attwater. 'It is
faith; I believe my balls will go true; if I were to miss once, it would
spoil me for nine months.'
'You never miss, then?' said Herrick.
'Not unless I mean to,' said Attwater. 'But to miss nicely is the art.
There was an old king one knew in the western islands, who used to empty
a Winchester all round a man, and stir his hair or nick a rag out of his
clothes with every ball except the last; and that went plump between the
eyes. It was pretty practice.'
'
'
You could do that?' asked Herrick, with a sudden chill.
Oh, I can do anything,' returned the other. 'You do not understand:
what must be, must.'
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