Still clutching Cassiopeia, she flung her free arm around his neck - and promptly bounced off, because he might have been made of cast iron.
It was such a painful collision that tears sprang to her eyes. She stepped back, sobbing, and gazed at him.
The little old man looked more bent-backed than ever.
His kindly face was thin and gaunt and very pale, and his chin was frosted with white stubble because he so seldom found the time to shave nowadays.
Incessant sweeping had worn away his broom until the bristles were little longer than his beard.
There he stood, as motionless as everyone and everything else, staring down at the dirty street through his steel-rimmed spectacles.
Momo had found him at last, but only now, when she couldn't get him to notice her and it might be the very last time she saw him.
If things went wrong, old Beppo would continue to stand there forever more.
Cassiopeia started fidgeting again. KEEP GOING! she spelled out. Momo dashed back to the main street and stopped dead.
There were no men in gray to be seen! She ran on a little way, but it was no use, she'd lost track of them.
She halted again, wondering what to do, and looked inquiringly at Cassiopeia.
KEEP GOING, the tortoise signalled again, then: YOU'LL FIND THEM.
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