This condition lasted for
something like ten hours, during which time the eyes continued to pierce
the cloud and him with patient, obstinate cruelty.
Denry heard some one talking. It was himself.
The Superintendent had said: "I have very great pleasure in proposing
the vote of thanks to the Countess of Chell."
And so Denry heard himself saying: "I have very great pleasure in
seconding the vote of thanks to the Countess of Chell."
He could not think of anything else to say. And there was a pause, a
real pause, not a pause merely in Denry's sick imagination.
Then the cloud was dissipated. And Denry himself said to the audience of
policemen, with his own natural tone, smile and gesture, colloquially,
informally, comically:
"Now then! Move along there, please! I'm not going to say any more!"
And for a signal he put his hands in the position for applauding. And
sat down.
He had tickled the stout ribs of every bobby in the place. The applause
surpassed all previous applause. The most staid ornaments of the
platform had to laugh. People nudged each other and explained that it
was "that chap Machin from Bursley," as if to imply that that chap
Machin from Bursley never let a day pass without doing something
striking and humorous.
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