Again returning to the main road, he passed through Clapton; and turning off on the left, arrived at the foot of Stamford Hill. Sections and pages had been pasted together, and all through both Testaments a word had been blotted out. We can’t afford to turn our women, our Madonnas, our Saint Catherines, our Mona Lisas, our goddesses and angels and fairy princesses, into a sort of man. There was no one else in the doorway. As Jack conjectured, no one was there, and, though a lamp was burning on a stand, they decided upon proceeding without it. Courtlaw sat with folded arms.
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