" 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. " "I mean to say, Sir," answered Mrs. She must not tell Martha about Gerald. It was the end, she told herself, fiercely. Lucilla clearly adored her betrothed, anyone could see that. Her safety lay in pretense—that what she saw was as a tale twice told.
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