Her motherly features creased into anxious wrinkles. Love stories!… A sob rushed into her throat, and to smother it she buried her face in a pillow. " 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. Gracious, there’s the gong. I want to leave it for ever.
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