She too at once developed an anxious interest in the street outside. "I can," replied Trenchard. 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. These were less like streets than labyrinths, hewn through an eternal twilight. You yourself supplied the details. In the midst of the holy place, which he had formerly profaned, lay the body of his unfortunate mother, and he could not help looking upon her untimely end as the retributive vengeance of Heaven for the crime he had committed. ” She watched his face as he traced his way through these speculative thickets.
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