On the other hand, I felt my host had been frank with me. If this was
indeed the same Lemuel Gulliver whose repute my infancy had prized so
well, I need have no fear of blood and treachery at his hands, however
primitive and disgusting his household, or distorted his intellect
might be. He who had proved no tyrant in Lilliput, nor quailed before
the enormities of Brobdingnag, might abhor the sight of me; he would
not play me false.
His servant, or whatsoever else he might be, I considered not quite
so calmly. Yet even in _his_ broad countenance dwelt a something like
bright honesty, less malice than simplicity.
Wherefore, I say, I ordered down my cowardice, and, looking both of
them as squarely in the face as I knew how, passed out of the open
into the appalling yard of this wooden house.
I say "appalling," but without much reason. Perhaps it was the
unseemly hugeness of its balks, the foul piles of skins, the mounds of
refuse that lay about within; perhaps the all-pervading beastly
stench, the bareness and filthiness under so glassy-clear and fierce a
sun that revolted me.
Pages:
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81