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. ‘Laisse-moi!’ Impatience swamped him. ‘It does not matter, Jacques. He brightened as she took off her hood. They crossed the street, and entering the front door passed up the outside stone steps of the flat. In twenty minutes we meet in the hall, remember. She crawled over and caught at the skirts of this white woman who understood.
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