“I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. 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. "Let me go first," said Blueskin; "the dogs know me.
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