He had dungarees on and a blue work shirt. Ann Veronica found herself incompetent, undignified, and detestable, holding on desperately to a hardening antagonism to her father, quarrelling with him, wrangling with him, thinking of repartees—almost as if he was a brother. He is in Newgate. Then she called a hansom and drove home. Perhaps she might never come back to that breakfast-room again.
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