Oui, dans la note. ‘Don’t dare call her that to my face. Leave the room! leave the house, Sir! and enter it again at your peril. But I don't look for peace on this side the grave. Past her shot the little old lady in the bonnet, running incredibly fast, but otherwise still alertly respectable, and she was making a strange threatening sound as she ran, such as one would use in driving ducks out of a garden—“B-rr-r-r-r—!” and pawing with black-gloved hands. It looked very patient, she thought, and a little self-satisfied.
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