"He will be murdered!—Help!" "My child!—my love!" cried Wood, dragging her forcibly back. 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. Jack fell on his knees beside her. “It was poison—why not?” she answered. . How could she tell him what indeed already began to puzzle herself, why she had borrowed that money at all? The plain fact was that she had grabbed a bait.
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