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. From one window the beach was always visible; from another, the stores. "Think not to deceive me, monster. ” She gave herself permission now to look at this squarely. “NO!” she said, at last, with something in her voice that reminded Ann Veronica of a sprung tennis-racket. She wanted to turn him. I cannot let you go.
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