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. It was only when Study Hall was over that Lucy turned her head. I've been thinking about it ever since morning. These galleries were separated in the middle by iron grates.
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