Ramage’s bitterness passed as abruptly as his aggression. " 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. It was late before Jonathan ventured to his own house, where he remained up all night, and kept his janizaries and other assistants well armed. She dared not look directly at him, her head obscured by a gray hoodie, she had the slumped appearance of an androgynous adolescent. Its cavernous expanses equaled the upstairs of the house.
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