“Next door,” said a spectacled young person of seventeen or eighteen, with an impatient indication of the direction. She felt him as something solid and strong and trustworthy beyond measure. There lay upon this stand a book bound in limp black leather—the Holy Bible. 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. .
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