“There is something to be said for the lady-like theory after all,” she admitted. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. " "We'll see that, young hempseed," replied Sharples, shutting the hatch furiously in his face, and locking it. 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. "Vot are you?" "Practising patience," growled Abraham.
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