Wragge, with a pile of small parcels hugged up in her arms,
anxiously waiting the issue of the dispute with the cabman in the
street. To return was impossible--the sound of the angry voices below
was advancing into the passage. To hesitate was worse than useless. But
one choice was left--the choice of going on--and Magdalen desperately
took it. She pushed by Mrs. Wragge without a word, ran into her own
room, tore off her cloak, bonnet and wig, and threw them down out of
sight in the blank space between the sofa-bedstead and the wall.
For the first few moments, astonishment bereft Mrs. Wragge of the power
of speech, and rooted her to the spot where she stood. Two out of the
collection of parcels in her arms fell from them on the stairs. The
sight of that catastrophe roused her. "Thieves!" cried Mrs. Wragge,
suddenly struck by an idea. "Thieves!"
Magdalen heard her through the room door, which she had not had time to
close completely. "Is that you, Mrs. Wragge?" she called out in her own
voice. "What is the matter?" She snatched up a towel while she spoke,
dipped it in water, and passed it rapidly over the lower part of
her face. At the sound of the familiar voice Mrs.
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