You
are little better than I am, Marquis; indeed, you do many things that I
would not do, that I have never done. For instance, whilst refusing to
cross blades with me, who am a soldier and a man of the sword, you seek to
pick a fight with a beardless boy who hardly knows the use of a rapier, and
who--wittingly at least--has done you no wrong. Now, my master, you may
call me profligate, ruffler, gamester, duellist--what you will; but there
are two viler things you cannot dub me, and which, methinks, I have proven
you to be--liar and craven."
And as I spoke the burning words, I stood close up to him and tapped his
breast as if to drive the epithets into his very heart.
Rage he felt, indeed, and his distorted countenance was a sight fearful to
behold.
"Now, my master," I added, setting my arms akimbo and laughing brutally in
his face, "will you fight?"
For a moment he wavered, and surely meseemed that I had drawn him. Then:
"No," he cried passionately. "I will not do dishonour to my sword." And
turning he made for the door, leaving me baffled.
"Go, sir," I shouted, "but fame shall stalk fast behind you.
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