“Isn’t that rather a strange question—under the circumstances?” he asked quietly. 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. " "There's but one way of clearing it, your worship," said the Master, archly. Only an undermaid I was then.
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