" It was curiously like the intermittent murmur of the surf, those weird Sundays, when her father paused for breath to launch additional damnation for those who disobeyed the Word. She handled it half fearfully, and set it carefully down again. Ennison had disappeared. “Anything is better than this—this stifled life down here. It’s not fair to you. They were silent and no longer observant, being more or less exhausted by the tedious action of the chairs.
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