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. The houses overhung in a frightful manner, and looked as if the next gust would precipitate them into the river. The sounds of the seashore infiltrated her dreams as she floated in heavenly bliss of sleep. He described her privately to himself as a splendid girl. They were both conscious, however, that something had intervened between them. But he knew. I wonder if he really wants me to go home.
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