Anna stood on the step and looked up and down the street for a hansom. She was new, unlike any other woman he had met in all his wide travel. A lean young man in spectacles pursued her for some time, crying “Courage! Courage!” Somebody threw a dab of mud at her, and some of it got down her neck. “I’ll run, too,” she volunteered. "Take courage, man; it is only Quilt Arnold. Then her eyes flashed. But the relief from the strain of her immediate necessities was immense.
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