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. " "That boy'll never rest till he finds his vay to Bridewell," observed Sharples. Why had he glanced up—quite in that way?. "Insult you! not I;" returned Figg. "Oh! nothing at all," answered Jack, sneeringly, "though this room's as much mine as yours, for that matter.
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