He felt himself to be
stiff and stilted as he walked, and that his clothes were uneasy to
him. When he turned into Westminster Hall he regretted more keenly
than ever he had done that he had seceded from the keeping of Mr.
Low. He could, he thought, have spoken very well in court, and would
there have learned that self-confidence which now failed him so
terribly. It was, however, too late to think of that. He could only
go in and take his seat.
He went in and took his seat, and the chamber seemed to him to be
mysteriously large, as though benches were crowded over benches, and
galleries over galleries. He had been long enough in the House to
have lost the original awe inspired by the Speaker and the clerks of
the House, by the row of Ministers, and by the unequalled importance
of the place. On ordinary occasions he could saunter in and out, and
whisper at his ease to a neighbour. But on this occasion he went
direct to the bench on which he ordinarily sat, and began at once to
rehearse to himself his speech. He had in truth been doing this all
day, in spite of the effort that he had made to rid himself of all
memory of the occasion. He had been collecting the heads of his
speech while Mr. Low had been talking to him, and refreshing his
quotations in the presence of Lord Chiltern and the dumb-bells.
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