To win the contest meant you would be chosen to apprentice in magic as a priest under her tutelage. 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. An entire forest’s array of meats was served in courses brought out to the table. Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. “No,” she answered, reluctantly. “We are both of us trenching upon forbidden ground,” she said. Will you forgive me—if I say no more?” She looked at him with perplexed, earnest eyes. The action steadied him; and there was a phase of irony, too, that helped. Racing, he reached it perhaps a moment or two later.
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