Michelle walked up the concrete porch steps, gesturing to Lucy to do the same. So far he had not stirred; from his bloodless lips had come no sound. The policemen were closing in from the sides to intervene. It would surely be only common politeness to drop her a hint—a fellow countrywoman too. He was always word-building, a metaphorist, lavish with singing adjectives; but often he built in confusion because it was difficult to describe something beautiful in a new yet simple way. And yet, on the very site of the sordid tenements and squalid courts we have mentioned, where the felon openly made his dwelling, and the fraudulent debtor laughed the object of his knavery to scorn—on this spot, not two centuries ago, stood the princely residence of Charles Brandon, the chivalrous Duke of Suffolk, whose stout heart was a well of honour, and whose memory breathes of loyalty and valour.
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