Let us be gone. Ann Veronica looked down at her fingers on the claret-colored table-cloth. 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. ’ At last. She moaned as his lips caressed her neck, almost to where the dress met her shoulder. Here, then, but for the time and place, might be another Sidney Carton.
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