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For a few minutes all was silent. “For luck. It was painted in the early seventeenth century by a minor artist named DuPre. 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. ‘A spitfire, ain’t she, sir?’ Roding ignored this. He would repeat them innumerable times, and patiently Ruth would repeat her answers. ‘You didn’t understand it any better than I.
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