" 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. How Jack Sheppard got rid of his Irons. I—well, I lost my temper. His face changed and she saw, with a stab at her heart, the dawning of irritation in his eyes. There was something which chilled even him in the cold impassivity of her features.
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