Good-bye. If he did resemble me, I shouldn't care about him. I am your husband, though as yet your hand has scarcely lain in mine. 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.
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