” He was obviously puzzled. "Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key. ‘Where is Gérard?’ ‘Out of town,’ Hilary said briefly. 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. I won't keep you long. But at least it gave her more time. She turned and looked at the red LED of the alarm clock that read 3:55. The weather's been foul enough for the last fortnight, but I've never turned my back upon it. A queer nut.
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