Her hand grasped it firmly, and she pushed herself forward. ‘Bête!’ Gerald caught her hand as she pulled it back to deliver another blow. “They are coming past our table. ’ The listening soldiers began to snigger behind their hands. She had killed him. 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.
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