The Virginians

when we scrambled up an embrasure at Fort Clinton and a clubbed musket would have dashed these valuable brains out, had not Joe's sword whipped my rebellious countryman through the gizzard. Joe wore a red coat in those days (the uniform of the brave Sixty-third, whose leader, the bold Sill, fell pierced with many wounds beside him).

Twin voyage through London folly, double-war loyalties, and red-coat/republic split turns the Esmond sequel into Anglo-American family civil war, so plot scores 87.

Harry, with his face flushing up. His aunt's tone jarred upon him. He could not bear that any one should speak or think lightly of the new friends whom he had found. He did not want them in such company.

Harry, George, Rachel Warrington, English Castlewoods, and soldiers of both armies carry Esmond blood into Revolution without flattening into allegory, so cast scores 88.

Again the bell is set ringing. The first door is opened to George and his negro; then that first door is locked warily upon them, and they find themselves in a little passage with a little Jewish janitor; then a second door is unlocked, and they enter into the house.

Ninety-two chapters dilate through London seasons then compress on Fort Clinton and vine-and-fig-tree peace, so pace scores 83.

On the library wall of one of the most famous writers of America, there hang two crossed swords, which his relatives wore in the great War of Independence. The one sword was gallantly drawn in the service of the king, the other was the weapon of a brave and honoured republican soldier.

Emblematic opening and freer twin-adventure narration continue Esmond's memoir lineage without pure Queen Anne pastiche, so prose scores 87.

On the library wall of one of the most famous writers of America, there hang two crossed swords, which his relatives wore in the great War of Independence. The one sword was gallantly drawn in the service of the king, the other was the weapon of a brave and honoured republican soldier.

Virginia plantation, London Castlewood, debtors' doors, Fort Clinton, and Independence camps map the Atlantic as one family theatre, so world scores 92.

On the library wall of one of the most famous writers of America, there hang two crossed swords, which his relatives wore in the great War of Independence.

Crossed swords — King service and republican honour hung together — announce civil split before either twin speaks, so hook scores 91.

The possessor of the harmless trophy has earned for himself a name alike honoured in his ancestors' country and his own, where genius such as his has always a peaceful welcome. The ensuing history reminds me of yonder swords in the historian's study.

Sequel turning Jacobite loyalty into Revolutionary fratricide treats historical novel as inheritance across empire, so innov scores 89.

Here my master comes; he has poked out all the house-fires, has looked to all the bolts, has ordered the whole male and female crew to their chambers; and begins to blow my candles out, and says, “Time, Sir George, to go to bed! Twelve o'clock!” “Bless me! So indeed it is.” And I close my book, and go to my rest, with a blessing on those now around me asleep.

Candles out and blessing on the sleeping house close war chronicle as domestic Atlantic aftermath under vine and fig-tree peace, so ending scores 88.