CHAPTER XXX. She never knew what became of her farmer after that. It always comes out sooner or later. 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. Ten thousand steeds appeared to be trampling aloft, charged with the work of devastation.
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