" 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. “It’s glorious good!” “Suppose now—look at this long snow-slope and then that blue deep beyond —do you see that round pool of color in the ice—a thousand feet or more below? Yes? Well, think—we’ve got to go but ten steps and lie down and put our arms about each other. Liberates the girl from parental control. ‘That’s right. You are too credulous. "What is it you want?" she asked, as she held out the coat.
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