Others pulled hats over their noses, cowered in their seats, and feigned that all was right with the world. His face was half hidden under a freshly pipeclayed sola topee—sun-helmet. He frowned. "Off with him to Newgate!" cried Jonathan. There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it. "If you are human," rejoined Trenchard, with stern emphasis, "I insist upon knowing whence you derived your information?" "I might refuse to answer the question, Sir Rowland.
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