At last in a street near the Hampstead Road she hit upon a room that had an exceptional quality of space and order, and a tall woman with a kindly face to show it. It towered up high above the level of the pass, thousands of feet, still, shining, and white, and below, thousands of feet below, was a floor of little woolly clouds. Why ain’t you gorn? Seems to me I had ought to arrest you. ‘That rascally knave sent you to become a French nun?’ Looking positively terrified, the girl nodded dumbly.
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