There she would wander about in the kindly darkness. He gave an order, the proa was floated and the sail run up. 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. But the young man with the orange tie remained in his place, disputing whether the body had not something or other which he called its legitimate claims.
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