His friendship seemed a thing worth having. ‘It was a good chance for a new life,’ Joan explained, venturing to face Melusine again, ‘and Martha took it. 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. Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury.
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