” She said. "I'll have my cot in here," said Spurlock to Ruth, "where this table is. Either you have had to love people or hate them—which is a sort of love, too, in its way—to get anything out of them. Playing with one hand he turned on his stool to glance at her. Still, in spite of her glances and gestures, Mr. No, don’t interrupt me. ” For a fraction of a second the two young men hesitated. A queer game this: he could not move directly as in an ordinary case of manhunt. 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. “If I sit here,” he said, standing up before her abruptly, “I shall have to shout.
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