Clutching the volumes, Meg sprinted behind her, onto the pebbled drive. Her new friend plunge into the gloomy carriage house. She followed and found herself confronted with a large touring motorcar of military persuasion. Meg watched Mary as she fiddled with something behind the wheel. Hastily, she slid back out the passenger side and rushed to the front of the car. She attacked the starter handle as though wrenching someone’s arm out of its socket. The large motor exploded with life. Pressing the handle back into place, she raced back to the wheel. The motor relaxed, emitting a low whine.
She motioned over the din of the motor for her to get in, and Meg obeyed. With two crunches of the gears, the Crossley lurched out of the carriage house. The tires scattered driveway pebbles as they slo
