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. “My dear Annabel,” she said, “this is delightful, but I thought that it was forbidden. Lucy felt her heart splinter in her breast. ‘Don’t dare call her that to my face. He blushed, too, spiritually, as it were. ’ ‘Get rid of the wench,’ Roding said brutally.
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