D'Artagnan, the King Maker — page 278: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

A Corporeal Shade. 261 “Haste! haste!” cried Porthos, girding his sword on and preening his torn and ruffled feathers. ‘Let us join your lord!” He rubbed himself here and there, where stones had left a bruise. “Take me for St. Sebastian, did they? For St. Stephen, I would sooner think. Strange that D’Artagnan did not come up while we were so prettily delayed. It’s that feminine Robin Goodfellow! They light our path, but it is to perdition! Fall in; for- ward—march!”’ GOMIGDOOKS (E(@) im