This laughter released something that had been striving for expression—her own natural buoyancy. " 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. ’ ‘Aye, but she don’t reckon to militiamen. "Curse me, if I don't think all the world means to cross the Thames this fine night," observed Ben.
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