But calmer thoughts quickly succeeded. Still he looked hale and hearty, and the country life he led had imparted a ruddier glow to his cheek. She saw his face change, how he regretted. White’s boarding-house in Russell Square. 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. “I can’t imagine it,” said Miss Miniver.
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