I should think, Anna, that your own sense—er—of propriety would enable you to see this. She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. ’ Trodger frowned, and chewed his lip. She exhaled, feeling the tension drain from her shoulders and arms.
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