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. “You little wretch!” she exclaimed weakly. She was writhing to get her hands loose and found herself gasping with passionate violence, “It’s damnable!—damnable!” to the manifest disgust of the fatherly policeman on her right. Still, my tutor was a highly educated scholar—my father. “What was that?” she asked sharply. "He will be murdered!—Help!" "My child!—my love!" cried Wood, dragging her forcibly back. Mr.
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