Hearing the approach of the rider, Mr. Many things were only words, sounds; she could not construct these words and sounds into objects; or, if she did, invariably missed the mark. 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. "God in Heaven bless you, unhappy boy!" cried. It was one of the secret troubles of her mind, this grotesque twist her ideas would sometimes take, as though they rebelled and rioted.
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