“Dear friend,” she said, “remember that you are speaking to one who has failed in the only serious object which she has ever sought to accomplish. He would teach her all he knew of life so that if the Hand should ever reach his shoulder, she would be able to defend herself. What was she going to do? One main idea possessed her: she must get away from home, she must assert herself at once or perish. Rushing towards the entrance of the well-hole, Blueskin touched the secret spring. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. I completed it according to the directions, you see, and it was a beautiful machine, a triangle sort of, with a steering column I built out of an old wheelbarrow and a hubcap. Wood's.
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