ToC Saint Giles's Round-house was an old detached fabric, standing in an angle of Kendrick Yard. Anything in the least irregular is like poison to him. 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. Master Thames Ditton, I'll do your biddin'; and you, Misther Quilt Arnold, may do your worst, I defy you. After that time nothing shall save you. The sun was setting, casting long dreary shadows across deformed apple trees.
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