Her hair got loose, her hat came over one eye, and she had no arm free to replace it. . “Let me help you,” he begged. 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. In those revolutionary times one had to be prepared. He wanted to know what the joke against him was—if any. God help me.
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