Madame Valade was looking heartily bored, he noted, as his searching eyes found out the couple. Wood then led the way up a rather high and, according to modern notions, incommodious flight of steps, and introduced his guest to a neat parlour, the windows of which were darkened by pots of flowers and creepers. “We have no airs and graces here, and my hat hangs from a peg in the passage. “The Holy Ghost! The Pope! My mother!” She squealed.
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