"Oh, God! that I might die too," cried Jack, falling on his knees beside her. Supposing that was it; at least, a solution to part of this amazing riddle? Supposing her father had made her assist him in the care of the derelicts solely to fill her with loathing and abhorrence for mankind? "Didn't you despise the men your father brought home—the beachcombers?" "No. The brown house, almost exactly the same as the Beck’s, turned black as pitch in the gloom. We have that gift.
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