“No. ” He called for a hansom. Jack had well-nigh fallen too. Then he looked towards his granddaughter once more, who had flounced away to the window at her greataunt’s interruption. 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. Robbed of their prey, the fury of the mob became ungovernable. All the rest is humbug and delicacy.
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