” 243 She felt a mixture of embarrassment, humiliation, and pride well up in her cheeks, flushing them. 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. ‘It looked to me as if he was playing games with Madame Valade,’ Lucilla said frankly. .
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