Her father, her own father! She remembered now a verse from the Psalms her father had always been quoting; but now she recited it with perfect understanding. There was something fatalistic about the letter H. "Miss Enschede, you're seven kinds of a brick!" "A brick?" He chuckled. It was as if her aesthetic sense had become inflamed. At other times, it would seem that the sea itself had gone away. Gosse took a step or two towards the centre of the room. I must have something in hand.
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