" 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 bit her lip, and then turning her face away, emitted another sigh. ‘You see now how dangerous it is to play this lone hand. “Are you looking for Mike? He’s working. Mr. Take my word for it, your troubles are over. Sometimes—a lonely forlorn child—she had gone to him and put her arms around his neck. Nice, of course. "Oh, easily enough," rejoined the other.
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