She looked at me as though I were some unclean thing, as though my soul were weighted with every sin in the calendar. " "And who is its mother?" asked Jonathan, in an eager whisper. 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.
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