" 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. Of course there are, millions of them. "I had to give in to him. I hope I haven't given any unintentional offence?" said the widow, again meekly appealing to Wood. It was not in evidence here, not a sign of it. Shotbolt nodded in token of acquiescence, and emitted an odd guttural sound. Mr. Ennison’s signet-ring had cut nearly to the bone.
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