Her girl, Clarice, was ten and just as pretty as a silver bell. The pieces fell to the ground in a little white shower. He wiped the sweat from his chin and forehead. Rowland felt himself sinking beneath the powerful grasp of his enemy. Sheppard, who had again looked round towards her son, beheld a hand glance along the side of the woollendraper. Besides, it did not fit her well, which was why the loose wimple had slipped.
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