How-ha looked up and down the woman who stood before her. Through
the heavy veil she could barely distinguish the flash of the eyes,
while the hood of the _parka_ effectually concealed the hair, and the
_parka_ proper the particular outlines of the body. But How-ha
paused and looked again. There was something familiar in the vague
general outline. She quested back to the shrouded head again, and
knew the unmistakable poise. Then How-ha's eyes went blear as she
traversed the simple windings of her own brain, inspecting the bare
shelves taciturnly stored with the impressions of a meagre life. No
disorder; no confused mingling of records; no devious and
interminable impress of complex emotions, tangled theories, and
bewildering abstractions--nothing but simple facts, neatly classified
and conveniently collated. Unerringly from the stores of the past
she picked and chose and put together in the instant present, till
obscurity dropped from the woman before her, and she knew her, word
and deed and look and history.
"Much better you go 'way quickety-quick," How-ha informed her.
"Miss Welse. I wish to see her."
The strange woman spoke in firm, even tones which betokened the will
behind, but which failed to move How-ha.
"Much better you go," she repeated, stolidly.
"Here, take this to Frona Welse, and--ah! would you!" (thrusting her
knee between the door and jamb) "and leave the door open.
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