Page:Thomas De Quincey The Defier of Ghosts Manuscript.pdf/3

 The postillions had spared their horses so much on the two first days of the journey, that on entering upon the last stagestage, [sic] evening had already commenced; the stage was a long one; the road bad; and the Recorder soon became aware that,  unless he desired his  entrance into Klatschhausen a day beyond the appointed time, he must borrow largely of the night.—Some miles they had  advancedthe road  continually worse,  plunging at times into dark lanes,  emerging upon dreary tracts of heath; the light was fast decaying; and at length the last  long slips of light had faded. The Recorder could not see his own hand; and he began to have some uneasy thoughts; for, though a great man and a defier of ghosts, he was mortal—as well as Philip.

“I say, driver,” demanded the Recorder, letting down one of the  glasses,—“I say  driver,—do you consider  this road quite safe?—These lanes now, and these wild heaths,—is there no danger in them:   boy? what do you think, boy?”

The “boy”, who was a young gentleman of sixty odd, scratched his head— cleared his throat—then spat—then again cleared his throat, and finally replied by question: “What was it your worship said?”

“What was it I said, boy? Why I say, boy, what sort of roads are these that we are coming upon for the next sixteen miles?miles?” [sic]

“Why thereafter as they be, your honor.”

“Well, is bad or good?”

“Why so so, your worship. Some we stick fast a dozen times; other some a score of times; other some two score: it’s all luck, your honor; nothing at all but luck.”