” He closed the door of 109 in her face. She forced herself not to think of John. Martin’s eyes seemed about to pop out of his head. 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. Even the most sullen and withdrawn were sensitive to the penetrating nastiness of the fog.
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