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. He opened the drawer of the writing table. "I beg your pardon!… A bit rocky this morning…. He sees men all defiled by coarse thoughts, coarse ways of living cruelties. “The rarefied air? I thought you had a better head.
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