The picturesque scoundrel had the true gift; and Spurlock was filled with pity at the thought of such genius gone to pot. He patted the hand on his sleeve. As in all things, so his thoughts came to him deliberately. 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. Then he rallied, smiling a little. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. " Something in the child's voice, something in her manner, warned the spinster that her well-meaning inquisitiveness had received a set-back and that it would be dangerous to press it forward again. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. It would hurt no one.
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