Shame and electricity coursed through her veins, flowing directly from him in a flash flood. Buried under various ancestral sixteenths, smothered under modern thought, liberty of action and bewildering variety of flesh-pots, it was still alive to the extent that it needed only his present state to resuscitate it in all its peculiar force. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. But, what brought you here?" "Excuse me, Sir Rowland. He addressed her by that title, and something in the tone disturbed her.
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