Excerpt from Redgauntlet a Tale of the Eighteenth Century, Vol. 1 of 3
Such was the import of the reflections with which you saddened our parting bottle of claret, and thus I must needs interpret the terms of your melancholy adieu.
And why should this be so, Alan? Why the deuce should you not be sitting precisely opposite to me at this moment, in the same comfortable George-Inn; thy heels on the fender, and thy juridical brow expanding its plications as a pun rose in your fancy? Above all, why, when I fill this very glass of wine, cannot I push the bottle to you, and say, "Fairford, you are chased!" Why, I say, should not all this be, excepting because Alan Fairford has not the same true sense of friendship with Darsie Latimer, and will not regard our purses as common, as well as our sentiments?
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