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Quiller-Couch, Arthur Thomas, Sir, 1863-1944

"I Saw Three Ships and Other Winter Tales"

For three
hours I had met neither man nor man's dwelling, and (for all I knew) was
desperately lost. Indeed, at the cross-roads, two miles back, there had
been nothing for me but to choose the way that kept the wind on my face,
and it gnawed me like a dog.
Mainly to allay the stinging of my eyes, I pulled up at last, turned
right-about-face, leant back against the blast with a hand on my hat,
and surveyed the blackness behind. It was at this instant that, far
away to the left, a point of light caught my notice, faint but steady;
and at once I felt sure it burnt in the window of a house. "The house,"
thought I, "is a good mile off, beside the other road, and the light
must have been an inch over my hat-brim for the last half-hour."
This reflection--that on so wide a moor I had come near missing the
information I wanted (and perhaps a supper) by one inch--sent a strong
thrill down my back.
I cut straight across the heather towards the light, risking quags and
pitfalls. Nay, so heartening was the chance to hear a fellow creature's
voice, that I broke into a run, skipping over the stunted gorse that
cropped up here and there, and dreading every moment to see the light
quenched.


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