. She stopped abruptly, and looked in a flower-shop window. Past her shot the little old lady in the bonnet, running incredibly fast, but otherwise still alertly respectable, and she was making a strange threatening sound as she ran, such as one would use in driving ducks out of a garden—“B-rr-r-r-r—!” and pawing with black-gloved hands. Most unsatisfactory. " "From some of your associates?" "From your uncle, from my uncle,—Sir Rowland Trenchard. " O'Higgins emptied an inside pocket—and purposely let the battered photograph fall to the ground.
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