” He examined the emerald in his hands and placed it carefully on the glass table. His cheeks were puffy, and his eyes blood-shot. She had grabbed! She became less and less attentive to his meditative, self-complacent fragments of talk as she told herself this. The winters were bitter here, they could have just as easily been frozen off. Wood then took to his heels, and never once looked behind him till he reached his own dwelling in Wych Street. 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. He next twisted the heavy gyves round and round, and partly by main strength, partly by a dexterous and well-applied jerk, sapped asunder the central link by which they were attached to the padlock.
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