The great ordeal—that which she had most dreaded—had proved to be no ordeal at all. Past her shot the little old lady in the bonnet, running incredibly fast, but otherwise still alertly respectable, and she was making a strange threatening sound as she ran, such as one would use in driving ducks out of a garden—“B-rr-r-r-r—!” and pawing with black-gloved hands. “I saw you in a sort of sloping, slippery place, holding on by your hands and slipping. That was something in his favour.
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