There's a letter for the head turnkey, Mr. Jack! Mon dieu, but he was unarmed. 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. Far away there was the one woman for this boy of mine—some human being who would understand the dear fool better than all the rest of the world. ‘Who is that man? What has he to do with you? No, don’t tell me. Without you, we might have had some trouble.
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