“No, those are my brother’s dog tags. 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. “Hold on, she’s right here. The lad had just barely jangled it, when hurrying footsteps could be heard inside. I had dreamt of the olive grove beyond the courtyard I had once been fascinated 198 with as a boy. Without a single ornament about her neck, or hair, wearing the plainest of black gowns, out of which her shoulders shone gleaming white, she was easily the most noticeable and the most distinguished-looking woman in the room. There was a wall; she was always encountering it; the one time she was able to break through this wall was when the part in his hair was crooked.
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