‘You can’t go to England. Not a word was uttered for some time, nor any sound heard except the stilled sobs of the unfortunate mother. The sun was rising, illuminating the trees in black as if they were drawn in ink. “Oh, dammit!” he remarked, “dammit!” with great bitterness as he faced it. From this spot a road, more resembling the drive through a park than a public thoroughfare, led him gradually to the brow of Dollis Hill. To get behind that impenetrable curtain, to learn why she hated her island. The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about.
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