When he was concentrating, deep shadows formed under his gray eyes. “I should imagine,” he said, shaking out a copy of The Times, “that it is your brain which is addled. 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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