Robin Hood's Barn 



his who left no spirit in her before the half was 

 told. The nose, moreover, aristocratic in its 

 curving downward sweep, was unmistakably the 

 son of David's — or hers of some collateral line. 



But it seemed a little academic to debate the 

 problem with the triumphal march of occupation 

 in full swing above our heads. Our monarch, 

 flinging back the wings of a blue mantle, had 

 swept off to search the confines of a narrow king- 

 dom and to take possession of a throne. Thus 

 was our wise concern just then court etiquette, 

 the proper manner of approach and of retreat. 

 Those couchings and low-crooked ciniisies so 

 spumed by Caesar, were, I am afraid, the very 

 forms we used. We dodged the royal wrath, we 

 bent before it, we quailed, I know I shook. Gone 

 was our republic with its traditionary rights of 

 man. Life was no longer safe. Liberty was 

 threatened. "Lord God Almighty," said my 

 father, as foregoing his pursuit of happiness, he 

 fled upstairs. One thing alone was clear. We 

 were in the grip of the relentless tyrant, subjects 

 not of the mailed fist, but of the iron beak. It 

 even seemed a pity that such an instrument of 



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