’ ‘Oh, you are, are you?’ said the nun, evidently not mollified, but she was forestalled. 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. "Is it poison?" she asked.
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