She treaded down the hall swiftly but stopped abruptly when she heard a voice in back of her. It was dusty, with dirty clothing strewn about, a cracked basin thick with grime on the rickety dresser, and a film of grease on the leaded casement. "Was that thunder?" he faltered, as a terrible clap was heard overhead. Listen, it is I. “It’s the stir of spring,” he said.
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