He knocked at the door. Once more breaking through the hedge he took to the fields. Proper enough now, when he could not help himself, but the habit would be formed; and when he was strong again it would become the normal role, hers to give and his to receive. 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 air, perfumed with the delicious fragrance of the new-mown grass, was vocal with the melodies of the birds; the thick foliage of the trees was glistening in the sunshine; all nature seemed happy and rejoicing; but, above all, the serene Sabbath stillness reigning around communicated a calm to her wounded spirit. A broken laugh followed the action. That’s why I chucked Manning.
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