" 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. He tried this sentence with expletives. ‘Too late by the time I realised to what a dunderhead I’d pledged my friendship. ’ ‘A convent?’ echoed Gerald with interest. If Winifred remained silent, her looks would have disarmed a person of less assurance than the woollen-draper. Winter came at the manor.
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