She was breathing hard, dragging for air, half in fright and half because the sudden effort had used up what little air she had managed to draw so briefly. ‘What mischief?’ ‘I don’t know, but I’ll go bail you’re at something. Hitherto in the world’s history there had been precursors of this Progress at great intervals, voices that had spoken and ceased, but now it was all coming on together in a rush. “Please forgive me—for one moment,” she sobbed. Winds returned, the gardens withered, and roses would not bloom.
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