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The Lost Prince | Frances Hodgson Burnett | |
II A Young Citizen of the World |
Page 3 of 4 |
``Perhaps,'' Marco had heard Loristan say to him almost severely, once when he had forgotten himself and had stood at salute while his master passed through a broken-down iron gate before an equally broken-down-looking lodging-house--``perhaps you can force yourself to remember when I tell you that it is not safe--IT IS NOT SAFE! You put us in danger!'' It was evident that this helped the good fellow to control himself. Marco remembered that at the time he had actually turned pale, and had struck his forehead and poured forth a torrent of Samavian dialect in penitence and terror. But, though he no longer saluted them in public, he omitted no other form of reverence and ceremony, and the boy had become accustomed to being treated as if he were anything but the shabby lad whose very coat was patched by the old soldier who stood ``at attention'' before him. ``Yes, sir,'' Lazarus answered. ``Where was it your wish to go?'' Marco knitted his black brows a little in trying to recall distinct memories of the last time he had been in London. ``I have been to so many places, and have seen so many things since I was here before, that I must begin to learn again about the streets and buildings I do not quite remember.'' ``Yes, sir,'' said Lazarus. ``There HAVE been so many. I also forget. You were but eight years old when you were last here.'' ``I think I will go and find the royal palace, and then I will walk about and learn the names of the streets,'' Marco said. ``Yes, sir,'' answered Lazarus, and this time he made his military salute. |
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The Lost Prince Frances Hodgson Burnett |
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