" 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. Finger to his lips, Gerald pointed in the direction of the noise. His high brow was what caused all the ladies in town to covet him, it radiated intelligence but also something more primal. "I'll not believe it. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. Ramage’s bitterness passed as abruptly as his aggression.
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