The militiaman at once thrust the old man between the shoulder blades, pushing him into the kitchen. ‘I can manage now. “Indeed, you could have no more faithful friend, you could find no one more anxious to serve you. Who invented them? Nobody knows. Until this instant, he discovered, he had thought of Melusine’s plan only in a nebulous fashion, a naïve girl’s dream. 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. "I beg pardon," he said.
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