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. An astonished Jack Kimble was revealed in the aperture. The wretch you confide in has sworn to hang you. "Wretch!" she cried, "you shall not force me to your hateful purpose.
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