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. Treasure caves to explore! All through these trying days she had recurrently wondered what this strange young man would have to say that Dickens and Hugo had not already said. The stairs were outside but they had been covered with a thin plastic roof.
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