"I am no man's mistress," answered the widow, crimsoning to her temples, but preserving her meek deportment, and humble tone. “You need have no further trouble. “You were going to answer it?” “Certainly not!” she said deliberately. ‘Seems to me, missie, as you’re as dangerous a female as I’m like to see. 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. ‘Come, cry a truce. Anna raised her eyebrows at the sight of him. She felt the thrill race through her body. ‘Don’t be too sure,’ responded Major Gerald Alderley on a dry note. Either you have had to love people or hate them—which is a sort of love, too, in its way—to get anything out of them.
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