Those awful miles of corduroy! Would they never end? She did not dare
use the wheel too roughly, for if it broke she never could arrive on
time afoot. Where her way was impassable for the wheel, she jumped off,
and pushing it beside her or carrying it, she ran as fast as she could.
The day was fearfully warm. The sun poured with the fierce baking heat
of August. The bushes claimed her hat, and she did not stop for it.
Where it was at all possible, the Angel mounted and pounded over the
corduroy again. She was panting for breath and almost worn out when she
reached the level pike. She had no idea how long she had been--and only
two miles covered. She leaned over the bars, almost standing on the
pedals, racing with all the strength in her body. The blood surged in
her ears while her head swam, but she kept a straight course, and rode
and rode. It seemed to her that she was standing still, while the trees
and houses were racing past her.
Once a farmer's big dog rushed angrily into the road and she swerved
until she almost fell, but she regained her balance, and setting her
muscles, pedaled as fast as she could.
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