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. "Old Morgan the trader," she explained, "used to save me Tit-Bits. I thought you understood. "My little fancy man's quite as fond of me as of you, Bess.
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