She married my Dad in a small ceremony down at City Hall. “Number 13, please, cabman. ” He held his breath as she reached over the stick shift and touched his face. How the deuce did I ever manage to father such a brainless nincompoop? A nun, for God’s sake! A confounded Catholic nun. Well, I don't think they'll any of 'em nab him, that's one comfort. 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. Her hair is like, white blonde, but trust me, it’s not her natural color.
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