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Wilson, Harry Leon, 1867-1939

"Ruggles of Red Gap"

I knew now that I had not been meant for
adventure. Yet here I had turned up in the most savage of lands after
leading a life of dishonest pretence in a station to which I had not
been born--and, for I knew not how many days, I should not be able to
shave my face.
But here again a ferment stirred in my blood, some electric thrill of
anarchy which had come from association with these Americans, a
strange, lawless impulse toward their quite absurd ideals of equality,
a monstrous ambition to be in myself some one that mattered, instead
of that pretended Colonel Ruggles who, I now recalled, was to-day
promised to bridge at the home of Mrs. Judge Ballard, where he would
talk of hunting in the shires, of the royal enclosure at Ascot, of
Hurlingham and Ranleigh, of Cowes in June, of the excellence of the
converts at Chaynes-Wotten. No doubt it was a sort of madness now
seized me, consequent upon the lack of shaving utensils.
I wondered desperately if there was a true place for me in this life.
I had tasted their equality that day of debauch in Paris, but
obviously the sensation could not permanently be maintained upon
spirits. Perhaps I might obtain a post in a bank; I might become a
shop-assistant, bag-man, even a pressman. These moody and unwholesome
thoughts were clouding my mind as I surveyed myself in the wrinkled
mirror which had seemed to suffice the uncritical Cousin Egbert for
his toilet.


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