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" 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. There was granite in her face and agate in her eyes. She laughed altogether in her old manner. She trailed him to his apartment and a black door that read 727 in solemn gold-tone lettering. She could not part with dignity. 123 It didn’t take long.

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