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. “It is the same man, Annabel,” she said. The lad hesitated. “Not much,” he answered, “and yet about all there is to be known, I fancy. ” Annabel rose and followed her sister from the room. It was just a shabby, stupid, furtive business that began between us.
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