Dower Receives the Brunt of a Scalding Wrath SO you . . . are the person who has caused such an uproar.” Given the great rumbling and shattering of the building’s firmament that had accompanied Mrs. Fletcher’s arrival, I had expected a deeper, more profound pitch to her voice. In this, I was disappointed. On the sole occasion I had opportunity to overhear some utterances from her, when Stonebrake had been secretively ensconced in the gallery overlooking the Commons’ erstwhile deliberations, I had thought that the noises I had perceived as emanating from the monstrous iron construction were but a malfunction, perhaps one of the alarm whistles bolted to the cylindrical boiler’s flank shrieking out of turn. But now that I was face-to-face with the transmogrified Prime Minister, I more correctly perceived that the sound was her actual voice—not the impressive bass that would seemingly have been more suited to both her immense form and position of power, but instead a nagging, wheedling verbal semblance, more suited to a schoolmistress than a despot.
