"Oh, don't worry."
"Yes, it's your last day, I may as well help you to go away."
The engine started easily and she drove out of the garage into the yard,
the wheels flying helplessly in the snow, and flinging up dry puffs like
flour. "Haven't you chains?" said the _marechal des logis_. But she
smiled and nodded and could not wait. "Good-bye--good-bye to all the
garage," she nodded and waved. The sun broke out from behind a cloud,
her brass and glass caught fire and twinkled gaily, the snow sparkled,
the gate-posts shone at her. She left the garage without a regret in her
heart, with not a thought in her head, save that in a minute she would
be safe, no accident could stop her, she would be abroad upon the magic,
the unbelievable journey.
* * * * *
They were in a small circular room, shaped like an English oasthouse,
its roof running upwards in a funnel to meet the sky. At the apex was a
round porthole of thick glass to let in the light, but as this was
supporting several feet of snow the lighting of the room was effected
only by a large oil-lamp which stood on the blackened table in the
centre. An old woman came forward into the light of the lamp. Her eyes
were fine and black--her mouth was toothless and folded away for ever,
lost in a crevice under her nose.
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