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. "All's over," muttered Jonathan. She used his own gun against him, a method that was occasionally cleaner than slitting throats when she got it right. "To the world's end," answered Jack, darting after him. "Well, good night, Mr.
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