They drove rapidly through the emptying streets. Lucy had passed the house once on the sidewalk, on a rare day when he was shoveling snow. “Here goes,” he said. His fingers slipped under the collar of her linen shift and he tore it open with a swipe. He had scarcely entered the arch, when the indraught was so violent, and the noise of the wind so dreadful and astounding, that he almost determined to relinquish the undertaking.
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