I can see the whole thing was just a set-up for sequels, though. ‘And so you sneak back,’ she threw at him, ‘like the jackal that you are. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. Mountains out of molehills and armies out of windmills; and you'll tire yourself in one direction and shatter yourself in the other. 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. Hope you ate light before you got here.
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