“You silly wimmin,” he said over and over again throughout the hearing, plucking at his blotting-pad with busy hands. Half French. When he comes he will do that raid of the pantechnicons the justice it deserves; he will picture the orderly evening scene about the Imperial Legislature in convincing detail, the coming and going of cabs and motor-cabs and broughams through the chill, damp evening into New Palace Yard, the reinforced but untroubled and unsuspecting police about the entries of those great buildings whose square and panelled Victorian Gothic streams up from the glare of the lamps into the murkiness of the night; Big Ben shining overhead, an unassailable beacon, and the incidental traffic of Westminster, cabs, carts, and glowing omnibuses going to and from the bridge. The idea that he held in his arms the girl whom he had once so passionately loved, and for whom he still retained an ardent but hopeless attachment, almost overcame him. Shotbolt," cried the turnkey, "I've good news for you. Now, no more questions, or I shall be forced to leave the room. For a time I must do journalism and work hard. Shocked, Melusine shot out of that blanketing warmth of sensation.
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