"Was that thunder?" he faltered, as a terrible clap was heard overhead. 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. Taking hold of the hilt of his own foil, he drew it forth. ” She assented, smiling.
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