She felt that she was not alone. They had completed a circuit of the mansion before Roding’s frustration burst out. For the first time he seemed to wonder what it might be that she had to confess. Michelle had charitably taken to sitting with Lucy during Lunch Period, where she assumed a station at the outer edges of the Cafeteria, the crowd diffusing in concentric orbits, the middle tables reserved for only the most prestigious castes. The venturous climber gazed for a moment at the assemblage beneath, to ascertain that he was not discovered; and, having satisfied himself in this particular, he stepped out more boldly. Spurling. 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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