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Her teeth were chattering so hard that she had to clench them for fear of biting off her own tongue. Though scarcely two hours past midnight, it was perfectly light. It’s a damned hard thing to do. Mr. 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. It must be somewhere hereabouts. But that possibility had been anticipated.
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