Her aunt glanced up startled, and then sat very still, with hands that had ceased to work. 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. “I’m fine,” she said softly. "I will struggle no longer with destiny.
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