“It was not necessary,” Sir John answered stiffly. She packed her things, then ran a mile to Julian’s apartment. ‘Here you, Pottiswick. I don’t want a family in the suburbs and Christmases at the Florida house and summers at the Hamptons. And now you must go back, take up your work and think all this over. Rather a magniloquent term, perhaps, but what else am I to say? One of these is that the most absolutely selfish thing in the world is to give way to depression, to think of one’s troubles at all except of how to overcome them. 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. "Don't look at it, I entreat," she cried. The tension was palpable. And still you interest yourself in my affairs. What is the use of it? I do not wish to marry you.
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