She bathed frequently with ash and lye soap stolen from traders. Only how had they missed him? Were they imbecile? Or perhaps the mists had concealed him from them. " 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 mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form.
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