#DailyLines #MOBY #WrittenINMyOWNHeartsBLOOD #Book8 #OutJUNE10th #noneofyourbeeswax He aint got a uniform on, one observed to another, _sotto voce_. Be he a soldier at all? We got no business with him if he aint, do we? Yes, we do, Woodbine declared, regaining some of his self-confidence. And if Colonel Frasers taken him prisoner, I reckon he has reason? His voice went up, reluctantly questioning. Jamie made no reply, his eyes fixed on Grey. Hes a soldier. Heads swung round to see who had spoken. It was the small man with the shattered spectacles, who had adjusted these with one hand, the better to peer at Grey through his remaining lens. A watery gray eye inspected him, then the man nodded, more certain. Hes a soldier, the man repeated. I saw him in Philadelphia, sittin on the porch of a house on Chestnut Street in his uniform, large as life. Hes an officer, he added, unnecessarily. He is not a soldier, Fraser said, and turned his head to fix the spectacled man with a firm eye. Saw him, muttered the man. Plain as day. Had gold braid, he murmured almost inaudibly, dropping his eyes. Huh. Jethro Woodbine approached Grey, examining him carefully. Well, you got anything to say for yourself, Lord Grey? Lord John, Grey said crossly, and brushed a fragment of crushed leaf off his tongue. I am not a peer; my elder brother is. Grey is my family name. As for being a soldier, I have been. I still bear rank within my regiment, but my commission is not active. Is that sufficient, or do you want to know what I had for breakfast this morning?
Posted on: Fri, 24 Jan 2014 09:13:53 +0000
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