So, at least, thought one of two persons who were seated together in a small back-parlour of the house at Dollis Hill. Wood—and after him came his daughter. “Hi John. Elegant, a little scornful, she leaned slightly against the back of a chair and looked him steadily in the eyes. And like that gospel it meant something, something different from its phrases, something elusive, and yet something that in spite of the superficial incoherence of its phrasing, was largely essentially true.
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