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 chromatic fiction with which he relieved his mind glanced but slightly at this aspect of life, and never with any quality of guidance. ’ Still the girl said nothing. Her momentary instinct was to run to him and be comforted, like the old times. As no apprehension was entertained of an escape by this outlet,—nothing of the kind having been attempted by the boldest felon ever incarcerated in Newgate,—both doors were generally left open during the daytime. ” He pushed her a dozen yards along the greasy pavement with flat, well-trained hands that there seemed to be no opposing.
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