"What shall I do? If I persist, I shall destroy her. . "Ay, murder him, if you like the term," returned Wild. If she had any idea at all, it was something she dimly recalled from her books: something celestially beautiful, with a happy ending. I can't invent; the thing won't come. “You see,” he said, “you are like an inaccessible gold-mine in all this sort of matter. 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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