” He could feel a small bump where he knew a cavity of smooth flesh should reside. And most of the others she had met had, she felt, the same steadfastness. ” “I’ve told you,” he said. Sheppard, pressing her hand to her temples. Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. She is something different. He hated the taste of it. 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. We want to celebrate, and we want you to help us. He seemed to know a great deal about life.
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