" "Look at it, then," said Wild, giving him the portfolio. The peculiar appearance of the sky was not without some influence in awakening these terrors. The second look told me I was wrong. '" "'This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea. But she was disappointed. Past her shot the little old lady in the bonnet, running incredibly fast, but otherwise still alertly respectable, and she was making a strange threatening sound as she ran, such as one would use in driving ducks out of a garden—“B-rr-r-r-r—!” and pawing with black-gloved hands.
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