“Will you tell me what all this is about?” said Capes. Ireton rushed forward to open the wicket for him. ‘We mean you no harm,’ he said reassuringly. From McClintock's came an infernal tinkletinkle, tump-tump! There was no composing with such a sound hammering upon the ear. 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. Look at it, I say.
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