"This gash," he added, pointing to one of the larger scars, "was a wipe from the hanger of Tom Thurland, whom I apprehended for the murder of Mrs. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. It has something to do with the fact that my Mom had them when she was only seventeen. “I love you, you know. Every so often a wall of water, thin and jadecoloured, would rise up over the port bow, hesitate, and fall smacking amidships. It’s all outside the world of your experience.
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