" 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 change in her face was not a pleasant one. They used the rope—not that a rope was at all necessary, but because Ann Veronica’s exalted state of mind made the fact of the rope agreeably symbolical; and, anyhow, it did insure a joint death in the event of some remotely possibly mischance. ‘Leonardo again,’ he growled. He could only wonder that this amazing thing had remained so long a secret to him. “I see nothing of my sister,” she said.
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