" "Keep it," said Trenchard, haughtily. " "Farewell, Jack," cried twenty voices. He was wrapped in a laced roquelaure, which he threw off on his entrance into the room. Sir Rowland waved his hand, and the attendant withdrew. No great lover of state or state costume at any time, he was generally, towards the close of an evening, completely in dishabille, and in this condition he now presented himself to his subjects. When she slipped off of it her head started to bob, filled with air.
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