A lean young man in spectacles pursued her for some time, crying “Courage! Courage!” Somebody threw a dab of mud at her, and some of it got down her neck. ” “Well?” “Sir John came to me—that you know—and you can guess what I told him. The more her thoughts dwelt upon the subject, the more convinced she was that she could not go to any one for help; she would have to solve the riddle by her own efforts, by some future experience. Don’t say anything, she thought to herself, say nothing more, Martin. He was always visualizing the Hand whenever he let his gaze rest upon the horizon. Don’t ask me how. That was how she projected it, and in general terms it seemed plausible and possible.
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