B. Wood's reply, if he intended any, was cut short by a loud knocking at the door. Glad to get back, I’m sure,” he said briskly. ’ He sighed. His room was last at the end of one winding corner. The manager stared at the empty doorway for a space, shrugged, and returned to his ledgers. Ramage, speaking the simplest first thought of his heart. She held out her arm straight before her, and turned her hand this way and that. “What the hell. 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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