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So, rustling in her stiff black silk, Martha Honeyman walked with her nephew silent by the shore of the much-sounding sea.
Then Pen went down the rock, and walked about on the sand, biting his nails by the shore of the much-sounding sea. It stretched before him bright and immeasurable. The blue waters came rolling into the bay, foaming and roaring hoarsely: Pen looked them in the face with blank eyes, hardly regarding them.
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