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. Gerald noted the lady’s eyes brighten as she caught sight of him making his way through the throng towards her. One glance swept across the place and it was immediately apparent that Pottiswick had not, this time, been mistaken. Before the question could be answered, a side-door was opened, and a very handsome woman of Amazonian proportions presented herself, and marched familiarly up to Mr. "You'll never return.
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