" 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. What was the fellow about? Was he being imposed upon? He watched as the man Valade turned back, spreading his hands in the French way. The same look she had often seen in the eyes of the drunken beachcombers her father had brought home, and it had not filled her with horror. Your boyfriend.
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