Her aunt had summoned up an altogether too vivid picture of her father as the masterful man, overbearing, emphatic, sentimental, noisy, aimless. Her naked body was an abomination of caked filth and sagging tubes for breasts. He could not tell by the look of her whether she was glad or sorry that presently she would be free. She spoke with a certain odd deliberation carefully chosen words which fell like drops of ice upon the man who sat listening. They seldom arrive on the beach. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. Her knees shook, her breath came fast, she almost felt the lurid effect of those tiny patches of rouge upon her pallor-stricken cheeks.
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