Even in this dread moment Ruth was conscious of a pathetic interest in the scattering pencils. But I don’t care; I haven’t a spark of shame. I bound him up good and tight, stuffed his mouth with a length of rope, taped it shut. 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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