As they passed beneath the thick trees that shade the road to Dollis Hill, the gloom was almost impenetrable. Kneebone, what with flirting with Mrs. ’ ‘Oh, she is English?’ repeated Alderley, interest perking up. 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 loitered in the shop as you chatted with the butcher’s girl.
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