. ’ ‘Oh, she is English?’ repeated Alderley, interest perking up. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. “Yeah,” Shari nodded enthusiastically. " 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. “You must leave me your address if you please,” he said, as she rose to go. "To be sure I will, my child. I wonder if I should have locked you up if I’d been your father.
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