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. " "So she was," replied the woollen-draper, helping himself to an enormous pinch of snuff with the air of a man who does not dislike to be rallied about his gallantry,—"so she was. ‘Not another caller will I receive this day. ” “Bit starchy,” said Ann Veronica, and altered the key abruptly. His face was a little flushed perhaps, and his small, brown eyes were bright.
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