Shall I send him to Sir John?” Annabel was white to the lips, but her anger was not yet spent. Her head rose. ” Courtlaw’s walking stick, which he had been handling, fell with a crash to the ground. 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.
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