” “Annabel knew where I lived,” Anna continued slowly. " "It's Jonathan Wild," returned the widow, endeavouring to alarm him. Her momentary instinct was to run to him and be comforted, like the old times. 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. ” “I don’t see why I shouldn’t. Ah, no, I have it wrong. Was he your natural father? Did you know him?” “No, I didn’t.
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