"I was not aware it was in danger," rejoined Darrell. As they careened into a parking space, Lucy clung to the upholstery so as not to be thrown against the front seats. 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.
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