” “I know—” said Ramage, with sympathy. The struggle had dislodged the white wimple, which was evidently too large for her, and her black hair broke free, whirling like a whiplash about her head as her hands curled into fists, coming up to beat at his chest, her little teeth bared for attack. You don't notice the heat; but it is always there, pressing down. Died short, I suppose, and the girls had to shift for themselves. “Don’t be too sure of that,” she answered enigmatically. Always as black and bitter as gall. He declined supper, but took wine.
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