The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about. I spoke a thought aloud. ‘Some ineligible that your parents would not tolerate, I suppose. 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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