" "Yes. 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. The sun was setting, casting long dreary shadows across deformed apple trees. As time went on, she began to think Martha had been mistaken. The major’s hand stilled. He entered the room with his usual deliberation, and looked covertly about him. And, besides, she didn’t just immediately want to make her attempt.
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