She had traversed perhaps three bookshelves, passed across the door that must lead to the hall, turned the corner, and was just about to reach the fireplace when she abruptly became aware that something under her fingers had felt wrong. A lean young man in spectacles pursued her for some time, crying “Courage! Courage!” Somebody threw a dab of mud at her, and some of it got down her neck. "For my part, I don't think you ever quite got over the accident you met with on the night of the Great Storm. ‘The major thinks she’s worth it,’ put in Prudence quietly.
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