But out of a belated regard for her father she wrote the surname of some one else. Sheila bellowed, a great wail of a sound from deep in her belly, flinging her tremendous weight towards him. “The fool I have been!” he cried; and now speech was coming to him. 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.
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