It seemed to her that her father was in some inexplicable way meaner-looking than she had supposed, and yet also, as unaccountably, appealing. In a tall glass the rind of a Syrian orange was arranged in spiral form. The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year. There was a sharp knocking at the outside door. “Whither away?” he said, very distinctly in a curiously wheedling voice. The procession now wound its way, without further interruption, along Holborn. McClintock would bang his fist upon the table.
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