Her heart full of dread, she dragged on it. But this modern miasma—” Mr. The stranger looked at him as if strongly disposed to chastise his impertinence. She could smell him almost as strongly as she could the new paint on the fire escape walls, along with the wool suit and the weird polyester smell of his wet umbrella. 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. At first she could not tell what it was; but as her eyes became accustomed to the light, she recognized the old coat.
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