" 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. But on Sunday he had been obliged to attend to certain matters for the nuns. Michelle was laid onto the back seat, her head cradled in Lucy’s lap. Wants me to look out for you a bit. She no more realizes what she has done than a child of eight. It was Jack, wasn’t it?’ ‘Aye, s-sir. He would go there. “Then turn round and go back there,” she directed. . But if he speaks—I fear what he may tell.
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