The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided. ‘You mean—’ ‘Hilary!’ Lucy turned excited eyes back to Alderley. “That is as you will,” she said. “I can’t imagine what has come over you,” said her aunt. 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. But do not awaken my apprehension, unless you have good cause for so doing. To-night the subtle suggestiveness of those few daring lines, fascinating in their very simplicity, the head thrown back, the half-closed eyes—the inner meaning of the great artist seemed to come to him with a rush.
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