"An idea has just occurred to me," said Gay, "which Jack's narrative has suggested. 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. But I should certainly want to be rid of Mr. I don’t know anyone. “And if I were you I would keep away from the fire. She nursed at his neck as he peacefully slumbered through being killed. Now then," he added more calmly, "I am ready to die. Single pearls— Lord knows where they come from!—are always turning up, some of them of fine lustre; but I never set eyes on them.
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