He handed Ruth a letter. How could she tell him what indeed already began to puzzle herself, why she had borrowed that money at all? The plain fact was that she had grabbed a bait. “All’s well that ends well,” he said; “and the less one says about things the better. ‘Couldn’t even trouble to make a pretence of motherhood. Mr. Wood could not avoid making a slight shuffling sound. Lucy followed. 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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