She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. “You do not even know what you are talking about. Then she sat down—uninvited— and looked from one to the other curiously. “I suppose things have changed?” she said. Yet I fancy that we who have been poor ourselves must be the best judges of the needs of the people.
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