As soon as the latter beheld him, she uttered a loud scream, and fainted. ‘Both of them so wise after the event. "Where?" she cried. “Please forgive me, Lucy. Oh, John. Montague Hill. Why, there's another party on the stair-head inquiring arter scullers; and, by the mass! they appear in a greater hurry than any on us. John laughed even harder, his eyes misting over. ‘Difficult, I grant you. 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.
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