How on earth does it concern you?” Annabel laughed hardly. 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. She was conscious of a ceaseless undercurrent of sound—the guttural Chinese tongue. If they had any idea the concerts he had seen, they would have known the quality of her playing.
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