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. Mr. ” “Perhaps not in a general way,” he answered calmly. Your purpose is done. ‘Good God!’ uttered Roding. “Here, dis is for you. ‘I would read your body,’ he whispered, and lifted her fingers to his lips.
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