“It’s just that he doesn’t seem like your type. Instead had come this storm, this shouting, this weeping, this confusion of threats and irrelevant appeals. 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. " "Never fear," replied Jack.
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