" 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. Why should he stare at her in this fashion?—for all the world as if she had pointed a pistol at his head? CHAPTER III He had said it, spoken it like that … his own name! After all these weeks of trying to obliterate even the memory of it!… to have given it to this girl without her asking! The thought of peril cleared a space in the alcoholic fog. A glance down the passage—to see that Roding was not lurking?—and her face came back to Gerald, triumph in her eyes. She was powerless to move from her chair. \" She tended to watch television very infrequently. He felt that he was getting on with her very slowly indeed, but he did not see how he could get on faster. She glanced at the soft-ticking clock with the exposed brass pendulum upon the white marble mantel, and made a rapid calculation. His eyes looked a little bloodshot to her; his face had lost something of its ruddy freshness. She breathed into a cloth soaked in rose oil as Sebastian had prescribed, but the smell of roses mixed obscenely with the smell of death and decay, causing her to retch.
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