Explore "The Beetle" by Richard Marsh on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The House was full. Percy and I went upstairs -- to the gallery which is theoretically supposed to be reserved for what are called "distinguished strangers," -- those curious animals. Trumperton was up, hammering out those sentences which smell, not so much of the lamp as of the dunderhead. Nobody was listening -- except the men in the Press Gallery; where is the brain of the House, and ninety percent, of its wisdom.
It was not till Trumperton had finished that I discovered Lessingham. The tedious ancient resumed his seat amidst a murmur of sounds which, I have no doubt, some of the pressmen interpreted next day as "loud and continued applause. " There was movement in the House, possibly expressive of relief; a hum of voices; men came flocking in. Then, from the Opposition benches, there rose a sound which was applause -- and I perceived that, on a cross bench close to the gangway, Paul Lessingham was standing up bareheaded.