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"I picked up news of her coming back by Claughbane," said Pete, "and traced her as near home as the 'Ginger. She can't be far away. Where is she?" Those who were cool enough fell to conjecture. Grannie had no resource but groans. Nancy was moaning by her side. The rest were full of their own troubles. Blind Jane was bewailing her affliction.
Over the droning of the hymn she caught the sound of a horse's hoofs on the road. They stopped at a little distance, and then came on again, with the same two voices as before. Pete was talking with great eagerness. "Plenty of house, aw plenty, plenty," he was saying. "Elm Cottage they're calling it the slate one with the ould fir-tree behind the Coort House and by the lane to Claughbane.
"He's telling me something," thought Pete. A car rattled down the side road at that moment, and the light of its lamp shot through the bushes to his feet. "The ould gate must be open," he thought. He looked and saw that it was, and then a new light dawned on him. "She's gone up to Philip's," he told himself. "She's gone by Claughbane to Ballure to find me."
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