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Conrad, Joseph, 1857-1924

"A Personal Record"

I'd much rather do it before the hatches are off. The little
devil may jump down the hold or do some other deadly thing."
"There's a halter?" postulated Almayer.
"Yes, of course there's a halter." And without waiting any more I leaned
over the bridge rail.
"Serang, land Tuan Almayer's pony."
The cook hastened to shut the door of the galley, and a moment later a
great scuffle began on deck. The pony kicked with extreme energy, the
kalashes skipped out of the way, the serang issued many orders in a
cracked voice. Suddenly the pony leaped upon the fore-hatch. His little
hoofs thundered tremendously; he plunged and reared. He had tossed his
mane and his forelock into a state of amazing wildness, he dilated his
nostrils, bits of foam flecked his broad little chest, his eyes blazed.
He was something under eleven hands; he was fierce, terrible, angry,
warlike; he said ha! ha! distinctly; he raged and thumped--and sixteen
able-bodied kalashes stood round him like disconcerted nurses round a
spoiled and passionate child. He whisked his tail incessantly; he arched
his pretty neck; he was perfectly delightful; he was charmingly naughty.
There was not an atom of vice in that performance; no savage baring of
teeth and laying back of ears.


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