" "Sir Rowland is my brother," resumed Lady Trafford coldly. He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly. He rambled in an unfortunate monotone, the result of his innate fear of public speaking. He stole his chance and thrust his hand towards hers. The pursuit of pleasure, selfgratification, is an original instinct with her. "I am surprised we have received no summons for attendance to-day," he remarked; "perhaps the other robber may be secured.
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