He, leaping after her, seized the comb from her back hair.

She turned, threw the cigarette at him.

He picked it up, put it in his mouth, and sat down.
"Nuisance!" she cried.

"Give me my comb!" She was afraid that her hair, specially done for him, would come down.
She stood with her hands to her head.

He hid the comb between his knees.
"I've non got it," he said.
The cigarette trembled between his lips with laughter as he spoke.
"Liar!" she said.
"'S true as I'm here!" he laughed, showing his hands.
"You brazen imp!" she exclaimed, rushing and scuffling for the comb, which he had under his knees.