Some one had once, in his hearing, called him a prig. Brown, Lucy, and Martin Chen were at the center of the joyous horde. 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. To-night there seemed to be a new brilliancy in her eyes, a deeper quality in her tone. They drove rapidly through the emptying streets.
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