She loved to be there, taking part in it all, breathing it, being 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. "I can't say I did," replied Wood, somewhat reluctantly; "what with the confusion incident to the storm, and the subsequent press of business, I put it off till it was too late. But you need not fear,’ she added, shaking him off. "Friends!" echoed Kneebone, with a look of dismay. Do not disquiet yourself. It is not you who runs the risk of going dinnerless to-morrow.
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