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. Of the vast mass of these impressions Ann Veronica could make nothing at the time; there they were—Fact! She stored them away in a mind naturally retentive, as a squirrel stores away nuts, for further digestion. She was shifting, moving back. Fly! they shall knock me on the head—curse 'em!—before they shall touch you. ‘Moreover, no one will believe any more that Yolande is me when they see this.
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