” “I don’t understand. She felt her chest trying to float up, but the blessed undertow, the dreaded reason why she was warned to never bathe in the ocean, sucked her feet down, putting the decision where it belonged, into the hands of God. He became primitive, literal in his conception; the ramifications were, for the nonce, fairly relegated to limbo. Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring.
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