" 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. The ruse succeeded almost beyond his expectation. She had to wear cream and a brown sash and a short frock and her hair down, and Gwen cream and a brown sash and a long skirt and her hair up. If she had any idea at all, it was something she dimly recalled from her books: something celestially beautiful, with a happy ending.
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