It was a unique experience for her to wash him. 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. ‘Dolt! Muttonheaded oaf! Why the deuce couldn’t he have sent you home?’ Valade cut in at that. It was debauching, this—a devilish art which drew such strange allurements from a face and figure almost Madonna-like in their simplicity. net/license).
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