Here she walked more slowly, looking constantly at the notices in the shop windows. "One'd think it rained fares, as well as blowed great guns. “It was poison—why not?” she answered. "Bolt the wicket!" shouted Ireton, who, with the others, had been not a little entertained by the gallant turnkey's discomfiture. She was a trained being—trained by an implacable mother to one end.
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