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. ’ The fury welled. ’ ‘Hadn’t the wit, you mean. There must be something we can do. " "Your own was equally so," said Jackson ironically.
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