He was so seldom wrong. She knew the truth of it all right. He had now reached the adjoining house, and, scaling the roof, approached another building, which seemed to be, at least, one story loftier than its neighbours. Once she had asked him: "Are you my father?" He had answered: "I am. The house was redolent with the smells of cinnamon baking and the stuffed turkey and marinated pork roast. Lost from all protection, all her family dead—as are mine.
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