She ran down alleyways and between buildings, faster than an Olympian, until she could hear his voice no more. He was safe, out of the beaten track, at last really comparable to the needle in the haystack. You will never be able to draw. "Wretch!" she cried, "you shall not force me to your hateful purpose. Immediately the "boy" went forth with his paper lantern, repeating a cry as he ran—warning to clear the way.
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