” She thought of her father, and with an effort dismissed him from her mind. My garden-close would be a better thing than that. . “Come right in,” he hissed under his breath, with the true conspirator’s note, closed the door very softly and pointed, “Through there!” By the meagre light of a gas lamp she perceived a cobbled yard with four large furniture vans standing with horses and lamps alight. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness.
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