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. Jack Kimble stiffened, looking at his interrogator with wary anger in his face. Perhaps I may borrow yours one day?’ ‘Lucilla, you wretch,’ burst from the captain.
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