The White Company by Arthur Conan Doyle, Fiction, Classics
Doyle, Arthur Conan By my hilt!" cried the other, "if you were to cross the narrow sea you would find them as thick as bees at a tee-hole. Couldst not shoot a bolt down any street of Bordeaux, I warrant, but you would pink archer, squire, or knight. There are more breastplates than gabardines to be seen, I promise you." "And where got you all these pretty things?" asked Hordle John, pointing at the heap in the corner. "Where there is as much more waiting for any ...