She could still remember herself at age five, staring knives and daggers at the men who came into the small yarn shop, under pretense of business but really just to leer. " 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. “I had to. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. "That we were afraid," replied the other; "but never mind her. " "Make it positive," was the brisk reply. It was just a shabby, stupid, furtive business that began between us.
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