She came upon two or three pence, went into a shop,
bought a bun, and ate it sitting by a marble-topped table. It nearly
choked her. Yet she knew she needed it badly. With one penny the less she
resumed her pilgrimage. But nowhere could she see the old man in his
leggings, and suddenly a sort of joyful spasm shook her superstitiously.
Fate opposed her cruel resolution. In a rush of eager contrition she
started for home, walking as quickly as her abnormal fatigue would allow
her. She had left the street in which the old man generally walked, and
took care, as she turned its corner, not to cast one glance behind her.
She passed through the next street, and the next, and was far away from
his neighbourhood, rejoicing, when suddenly she saw him coming straight
towards her slowly, the rats resting on his shoulders, various small dogs
in strings pattering on each side of him.
Cuckoo's heart gave a great thump, and then for an appreciable fragment
of time stopped beating. She muttered a bad word under her breath and had
an impulse to flee as from an enemy. She did not flee, but stood still
like one condemned, while the old man stolidly approached with his
menagerie. When he reached her she lifted her head and looked him in the
face.
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