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. "Your father—poor imbecile!—believes we ran away together. She came to befriend the female mistresses, some who were even so audacious as to bring their children into the house. ‘You’re not going to kill me this time. Whenever McClintock had guests, he loafed with them on the west veranda in the morning.
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