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. “TROUSERS!” she whispered. The river, the big buildings on the north bank, Westminster, and St. Blood dripped down one side of her forehead. ‘Doesn’t she, Gerald?’ Gerald held up his hands. "Hist!" cried Rowland, arresting his comrade.
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