” She smiled faintly. Dieu du ciel, what was it? She turned slowly, listening for the direction of the sound. I’ll show it to you later. She went down, feeling rather than seeing the way. She tolerated spitballs in her curly hair and had to buy a new backpack when hers was stolen. But I must summon my janizaries. 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.
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