\" His tone was weak and conciliatory. It was filled with sopping lichens and green benches too slimy to sit upon. Her head felt absurdly like one of those noddling manikins in the Hong-Kong curio-shops. Arrived at the audience-chamber, he set down the light upon a stand, threw open the door, and announced in a loud voice, but with the perfect intonation of the person he represented,—"Sir Rowland Trenchard. He was only a younger son, and you know what trouble we had. Mr.
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