Barry Lyndon
the collation which my mother’s care had provided for him, and then said, ‘Look ye, Redmond my boy; this is a silly business. The girl will marry Quin, mark my words; and as sure as she does you’ll forget her. You are but a boy. Quin is willing to consider you as such. Dublin’s a fine place, and if you have a mind to take a ride thither and see the town for a month, here are twenty guineas at your service. Make Quin an apology, and be off.’      

       ‘A man of honour, Mr. Fagan,’ says I, ‘dies, but never apologises. I’ll see the Captain hanged before I apologise.’      

       ‘Then there’s nothing for it but a meeting.’      

       ‘My mare is saddled and ready,’ says I; ‘where’s the meeting, and who’s the Captain’s second?’      

       ‘Your cousins go out with him,’ answered Mr. Fagan.     

       ‘I’ll ring for my groom to bring my mare round,’ I said, ‘as soon as you have rested yourself.’ Tim was accordingly despatched for Nora, and I rode away, but I didn’t take leave of Mrs. Barry. The curtains of her bedroom windows were down, and they didn’t move as we mounted and trotted off...       BUT TWO HOURS AFTERWARDS, you should have seen her as she came tottering downstairs, and heard the scream which she gave as she hugged her boy to her heart, quite unharmed and without a wound in his body.     

       What had taken place I may as well tell here. When we got to the ground, Ulick, Mick, and the Captain were already there: Quin, flaming in red regimentals, as big a monster as ever led a grenadier company. The party were laughing together at some joke of one or the other: and I must say I thought this laughter very unbecoming in my cousins, who were met, perhaps, to see the death of one of their kindred.     

       ‘I hope to spoil this sport,’ says I to Captain Fagan, in a great rage,       ‘and trust to see this sword of mine in yonder big bully’s body.’      

       ‘Oh! it’s with pistols we fight,’ replied Mr. Fagan. ‘You are no match for Quin with the sword.’      

       ‘I’ll match any man with the sword,’ said I.     

       ‘But swords are to-day impossible; Captain Quin is—is lame. He knocked his knee against the swinging park-gate last night, as he was       
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