Suddenly, she heard the crunch of new feet on the gravel. 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. Courtlaw is looking after you, Miss Pellissier,” she said. A white man, wandering about the streets of Canton at night, was a challenge to such a catastrophe.
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