"Hadn't you better put on your lights?" Grace suggested uneasily. "We
might run into a ditch or something. Betty, I'm half scared."
For answer Betty switched on the lights and the woods and the road
ahead of them were suddenly flooded with a weird radiance. It brought
out branches and leaves and stones in such sharp contrast to the dark
background that the effect was startling.
"Oh," gasped Grace, "turn them off again, do, Betty. It is positively
ghastly."
"Don't be foolish," said Betty, striving to make her voice sound
matter-of-fact, her eyes glued to the road ahead of them as it twisted
and turned through the woods. "I don't see why lights should make a
perfectly harmless wood look ghastly. And, anyway, I couldn't turn
them out now. I don't believe I could find my way. You don't want me
to run into something, do you?"
"No, of course not," Grace said more firmly, rather ashamed of her
fears. "I didn't mean to act in a silly fashion. But," she turned to
Betty quickly, "that hold-up and all-- don't you feel a little queer
yourself, Betty? Tell the truth.
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