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Her thin fingers were armed with nails as long as the talons of a bird. Who could say that the girl's father had not once been a fashionable clergyman in the States and that drink had got him and forced him down, step by step, until—to use the child's odd expression—he had come upon the beach? She was cynical, this spinster. Her loneliness was consuming, Lucia. He stood back and held her shoulders. ‘I thought, you see, that we might as well enter by the same way our intruder had done.
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