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“The light from her windows passed across her chamber in diminishing arcs as the days shortened, the sounds were the cries of seagulls following the fishing fleet into the harbour and the rush of the waves on the shingle shore.” — Anna Keay
The light from her windows passed across her chamber in diminishing arcs as the days shortened, the sounds were the cries of seagulls following the fishing fleet into the harbour and the rush of the waves on the shingle shore.