Note 1: — Chapter XI
Reading edition
He came to my country and he fetched me some letter of recommending him: but I was of the belief he might be an impostor, and I supposed in my minte, he was an espy; for I look away from him and in a moment I look to him again, and I behold his tablets. Oh! he was to the work of writing down all I say! Indeed I was angry. But soon I discover he was no impostor and no espy; and I only find I was myself the monster he had come to discover. Oh—he is a very good man, I love him indeed; so cheerful! so gay! so pleasant! but at the first, oh! indeed I was angry.1