“I never planned it—And now I have begun—” She felt acutely that he was entitled to explanations, and as acutely that explanations were impossible that night. “You can count upon me, Nigel,” she said. “That is where I got confused,” he said. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. “She has one, that’s why. " "A child!" thought Wood; it must be the fugitive Darrell. 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 preparations to meet him were immense, roses were planted everywhere, white and drooping with honeyed fragrance. " And he raised it in his arms.
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