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Freeman, R. Austin (Richard Austin), 1862-1943

"and edited by R. Austin Freeman"

I followed at a rapid pace, but it was not until we
approached the commencement of the wood, when she slowed down somewhat,
that I overtook her.
"This is the place," I said, as we reached the spot where I had parted
from Miss Haldean. We dismounted and wheeled our bicycles through the
gate, and laying them down beside the hedge, crossed the meadow and
entered the wood.
It was a terrible experience, and one that I shall never forget--the
white-faced, distracted woman, tramping in her flimsy house-shoes over
the rough ground, bursting through the bushes, regardless of the thorny
branches that dragged at skin and hair and dainty clothing, and sending
forth from time to time a tremulous cry, so dreadfully pathetic in its
mingling of terror and coaxing softness, that a lump rose in my throat,
and I could barely keep my self-control.
"Freddy! Freddy-boy! Mummy's here, darling!" The wailing cry sounded
through the leafy solitude; but no answer came save the whirr of wings
or the chatter of startled birds. But even more shocking than that
terrible cry--more disturbing and eloquent with dreadful suggestion--was
the way in which she peered, furtively, but with fearful expectation,
among the roots of the bushes, or halted to gaze upon every molehill and
hummock, every depression or disturbance of the ground.


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