Anna tore it open and passed it to Courtlaw. “Take my advice,” he said hoarsely. It was no use. 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. The trader you spoke about: he disliked your father, didn't he? Well, he probably played your father a horrible practical joke. I love some one else.
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