The better part of the speech was wiped clean from his memory at the
start, so he had to lean heavily on the written word. He read rapidly
but without intelligence. Now and again a faint cheer would break the
even flow, and he would look up for a moment with startled eyes, only to
go off again with quickened speed. He found himself talking neat
paradoxes which he did not understand, and speaking glibly of names
which to him were no more than echoes. Eventually he came to an end at
least twenty minutes before a normal political speech should close, and
sat down, hot and perplexed, with a horrible sense of having made a fool
of himself.
The chairman, no less perplexed, made the usual remarks and then called
for questions, for the time had to be filled in somehow. The words left
George aghast. The wretched man looked forward to raw public shame.
His ignorance would be exposed, his presumption laid bare, his pride
thrown in the dust. He nerved himself for a despairing effort. He
would brazen things out as far as possible; afterwards, let the heavens
fall.
An old minister rose and asked in a thin ancient voice what the
Government had done for the protection of missionaries in
Khass-Kotannun. Was he, Mr. Winterham, aware that our missionaries in
that distant land had been compelled to wear native dress by the
arrogant chiefs, and so fallen victims to numerous chills and epidemics?
George replied that he considered the treatment abominable, believed
that the matter occupied the mind of the Foreign Office night and day,
and would be glad personally to subscribe to any relief fund.
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