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Gerald glanced down and saw her dash at a spread of blood on his own hand, only now realising that her dagger had found its mark. 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. “This is my way back to my side of the Park,” she said. Lovers' confidences should be respected. There never is much left for me.
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