She saw his eyes glaze over. I suppose if one were to love some one, one would feel doubtful. Then to Martin's brandy-shop, in Fleet Street. Insulting cries became frequent and various, but for the most part she could not understand what was said. Somebody to depend upon her; somebody to have need of her, if only for a little while. "How go you like your quarters, sauce-box?" asked Sharples, in a jeering tone. It was as if she had grown right past her father into something older and of infinitely wider outlook, as if he had always been unsuspectedly a flattened figure, and now she had discovered him from the other side. .
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