She would be elemental; there would be in her somewhere the sleeping tigress. ‘Who me, sir? Lor’ no, sir. ‘Well, this maid,’ went on Kimble eagerly, ‘and me, we gets to talking, see, and that’s how I knew he were off to this party. 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. I never let her read stories, or have pets, dolls.
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