Wood lifted up his hands in mute despair. Who could say that the girl's father had not once been a fashionable clergyman in the States and that drink had got him and forced him down, step by step, until—to use the child's odd expression—he had come upon the beach? She was cynical, this spinster. But Sheppard took no notice of the exclamation. “Was I that bad?” He asked. I know my son's voice too well. Occasionally he would lean back and stare at the window which gave upon the sea.
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