If she had any idea at all, it was something she dimly recalled from her books: something celestially beautiful, with a happy ending. "Where can I hide myself?" he added, glancing round the room in search of a closet. When she slipped off of it her head started to bob, filled with air. 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. Terrific shouts were raised by the rabble, who threatened to tear Wild in pieces if he showed himself.
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