Kevin Chen, Martin’s father, was equally stately, his dark brown eyes bright with the fire of extreme intelligence. "Is she dead?" "No—no," answered Hogarth. He had something across his knees. At last she was roused. When he comes he will do that raid of the pantechnicons the justice it deserves; he will picture the orderly evening scene about the Imperial Legislature in convincing detail, the coming and going of cabs and motor-cabs and broughams through the chill, damp evening into New Palace Yard, the reinforced but untroubled and unsuspecting police about the entries of those great buildings whose square and panelled Victorian Gothic streams up from the glare of the lamps into the murkiness of the night; Big Ben shining overhead, an unassailable beacon, and the incidental traffic of Westminster, cabs, carts, and glowing omnibuses going to and from the bridge. And then if some day Capes wanted her—saw fit to alter his views upon friendship. Their houses became a refuge of ill repute, the source of rumor and intrigue in the highest echelons of society. Instead, they appeared to be at the hygienic level of tramps’ lodging-houses.
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