“I suppose Paris is very, very distracting. Then he stood up and hailed a fiacre. Find your man, that’s the rule. Hell's curses! that after all my precautions I should be thus entrapped. And then presently these clouds began to wear thin and expose steep, deep slopes, going down and down, with grass and pine-trees, down and down, and at last, through a great rent in the clouds, bare roofs, shining like very minute pin-heads, and a road like a fibre of white silk-Macugnana, in Italy. I don’t think of you as a kid. ” “Very well,” he said. Wood's reply, if he intended any, was cut short by a loud knocking at the door. Remember! not a word!" So saying, he huddled the mantle over Wood's shoulders, dashed the lantern to the ground, and extinguished the light.
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