No breakfast, he’s had no dinner, hardly a mouthful of soup— since yesterday at tea. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. Now it is—’ ‘What are you doing still here, missie, that’s what I’d like to know?’ demanded the man Trodger, sticking to his guns. Don't be alarmed by their manners, Mr. Bah! She does not know me very well, and you—not at all. She heard this standard expression of a strong soul wrung with a critical coldness that astonished herself.
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