What had happened to it? She had broken it, certainly. His sword-arm fell useless at his side and she knew herself safe. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. Her defence ceased rapidly to be in any sense ladylike, and became vigorous and effective; a strand of black hair that had escaped its hairpins came athwart Ramage’s eyes, and then the knuckles of a small but very hardly clinched fist had thrust itself with extreme effectiveness and painfulness under his jawbone and ear.
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