"What has delayed you?" demanded the knight impatiently. 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. Melusine—the real Melusine—would never have made such a stupid mistake. " "Indeed!" said Shotbolt. "What are you waiting for?" asked Jack, impatiently.
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