"But to the point," continued Wild, unconscious of the peril in which the remark had placed him,—"to the point. 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. Stanley changed his key. “Ask me nothing. In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs.
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