"Hoddy, wake up!" She jerked his head to and fro until the hair stung. “Agreed,” he said with queer exaltation, and his grip tightened on her hand. A hazy face appeared through the fog of sleep, pale and thin and looming. 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. We shall have—hardly any money.
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