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themselves, upright and with a haughty brow, who barred their passage.
Who was this man? Tom-Jim-Jack.
Some of these lords were still in their robes, others had thrown them
off, and were in their usual attire. Tom-Jim-Jack wore a hat with
plumes--not white, like the peers; but green tipped with orange. He was
embroidered and laced from head to foot, had flowing bows of ribbon and
lace round his wrists and neck, and was feverishly fingering with his
left hand the hilt of the sword which hung from his waistbelt, and on
the billets and scabbard of which were embroidered an admiral's anchors.
It was he who was speaking and addressing the young lords; and
Gwynplaine overheard the following:--
"I have told you you are cowards. You wish me to withdraw my words. Be
it so. You are not cowards; you are idiots. You all combined against one
man. That was not cowardice. All right. Then it was stupidity. He spoke
to you, and you did not understand him. Here, the old are hard of
hearing, the young devoid of intelligence. I am one of your own order to
quite sufficient extent to tell you the truth. This new-comer is
strange, and he has uttered a heap of nonsense, I admit; but amidst all
that nonsense there were some things which were true. His speech was
confused, undigested, ill-delivered. Be it so. He repeated, 'You know,
you know,' too often; but a man who was but yesterday a clown at a fair
cannot be expected to speak like Aristotle or like Doctor Gilbert
Burnet, Bishop of Salisbury. The vermin, the lions, the address to the
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