“Dear old daddy!” she said, and was amazed to find herself shedding tears. One or two of the tables were occupied by groups of fat frowzy women in flat caps, with rings on their thumbs, and baskets by their sides; and no one who had listened for a single moment to their coarse language and violent abuse of each other, would require to be told they were fish-wives from Billingsgate. But she made a pretence of struggling a little, for it would be out of character for her not to do so and she did not want to arouse his suspicions. Because here was the haven for which she had been blindly groping: the positive abolition of all her father's rights in her—the right to drag her back. She shot a sudden glance at him. It was at the top of the building, and looked clear over a clustering mass of inferior buildings toward Regent’s Park.
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