"Arundel Stairs," replied Wood, "the nearest point to Wych Street. As she neared the bottom of the dip in Piccadilly she saw a woman approaching her from the opposite direction—a tall woman who at the first glance seemed altogether beautiful and fine. ‘I don’t want to hurt you any more. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. The Enschede Bible—the one out of which she read—had been strangely mutilated.
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