” Lucy said, thinking of the Becks who worked around the clock just to keep a tiny house in the same neighborhood. 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. Did he track her? She was unaware if he did. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. She was looking anxiously at the entrance to the restaurant. She had suddenly become as the jewels of the Madonna, as the idol's eye, infinitely beyond his reach, sacred. But it must have been something that could show her to be Mary’s daughter. ‘Thought you were going to break in here,’ he said, in an impatient whisper. “You little wretch!” she exclaimed weakly.
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