" 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 bump was coarse and didn’t feel right. She traced him by his scent. “You have killed me. ’ Gerald’s jaw tightened. There was no answer, just grunting, so she repeated the question in Latin, then in Greek, to which Rhea responded.
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