Naturally Amy and Grace thought their friends were giving up and
marveled at it. How on earth could they have lost out so soon? Had they
been more versed in races they could have answered that question
themselves.
Meanwhile the boys, pulling hard, had managed to make up half the
distance between them and the girls, and in sight of Betty's and
Mollie's evident weariness their hopes soared high. Why, with these last
two out of the running the race was as good as won.
On, on they came, hand over hand, stroke following stroke, rhythmic and
strong and confident.
Betty looked at Mollie and Mollie looked at Betty, and each knew she had
discovered the other's secret and at the same time recognized a rival.
Amy had come to the limit of her strength with the goal an eighth of a
mile away. She knew that for her the race was over. The waters pushed
her back, forced her back, seeming like some pitiless enemy bent upon
her downfall.
And what of Grace? She would not acknowledge to herself that her
strength was leaving her--why, she had swum as far as that many a time
before--it was absurd that she should give up now.
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