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. Hers were less noble, yet stately. ‘Cajolery? This is not your style. She saw, twenty yards down the platform, the shiny hat and broad back and inimitable swagger of Ramage. Lucy acted the part of savoring the end of the meal, but it was difficult. Lord above, had they wounded each other? But Melusine’s need was paramount with Gerald and he tried to shake off her clinging fingers. Ruth's gaze wandered from the printed page.
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