My Lady interrupts, requesting him to miss as many of the formal horrors as he can.
Mr. Tulkinghorn glances over his spectacles and begins again lower down. My Lady carelessly and scornfully abstracts her attention. Sir Leicester in a great chair looks at the file and appears to have a stately liking for the legal repetitions and prolixities as ranging among the national bulwarks. It happens that the fire is hot where my Lady sits and that the hand-screen is more beautiful than useful, being priceless but small. My Lady, changing her position, sees the papers on the table--looks at them nearer--looks at them nearer still--asks impulsively, "Who copied that?"
Mr. Tulkinghorn stops short, surprised by my Lady's animation and her unusual tone.
"Is it what you people call law-hand?" she asks, looking full at him in her careless way again and toying with her screen.

My Lady interrupts, requesting him to miss as many of the formal horrors as he can.
Mr. Tulkinghorn begins again. My Lady sees the papers on the table - looks at them nearer - and asks impulsively, "Who copied that?"
Mr. Tulkinghorn stops short, surprised.
"Is it what you people call law-hand?" she asks, looking full at him.
