Wood heard the cry. Only first you must find the lantern and light it again and leave it here, near the door, for me to find. 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. The Times slipped from his fingers. CHAPTER I. The small Diedermayer clan was a captive audience.
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