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. She was young and bright, little to no make-up except for lip-gloss, long, straight, glossy reddish blonde hair slightly past her shoulders. Fifty in advance. “Do you believe me now?” She asked. " "Caught you napping, eh?" rejoined Ireton, with a laugh. He displayed a quite unprofessional vein of mysticism in the matter.
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