Finally she decided upon a step that had always seemed reasonable to her, but that hitherto she had, from motives too faint for her to formulate, refrained from taking. 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. She's my mealticket. She rehearsed the story of her forlorn long lost mother in her head, what she would say to the theorymongers. And, lastly, to the Seven Cities o' Refuge, in the New Mint. But he was always forcing her to say and do such unexpectedly conclusive things. . He waved a cordial goodbye. And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. The room seemed a vacuum.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDUyLjE1LjI0My4yMjEgLSAxMy0wNy0yMDI0IDA0OjQ2OjUzIC0gMzY3MzAzMjI2
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