I can’t but feel it’s an undesirable complication to drag in the Charvills at this point. ’ Shock ripped through Charvill’s chest. You're an angel of goodness. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. 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. At this moment she was staring ahead; and again came the opportunity to study her.
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