To-night she had a curious feeling that she stood upon the threshold of some change. “Mike, what’s going on?” She sat up, groggily rubbing her eyes. Submission to the inevitable carried her through the circumstances of her appearance before the magistrate. She was perfectly aware that the boy had gotten some sort of bug in his craw over her despite her sloppy, strange appearance. But this might be merely a figurative mode of describing his customary vigilance. They put her down, and she leaped at them; she smote a helmet to the ground.
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