“He fancied that he did,” she corrected him coolly. “We always have things out with OUR father, poor dear!” said Hetty. “Would you mind calling that hansom for me?” He looked at it critically and shook his head. Sniveling brats, little fatherless bastards, you should breathe a sigh of relief. Not far from the entrance, on the left, was a sort of screen, or partition-wall, reaching from the floor to the ceiling, formed of thick oaken planks riveted together by iron bolts, and studded with broad-headed nails. They would be partners only in loneliness. It came to her like a dear thing rediscovered, that she loved Capes. "I can readily see," he said, "why you'll always be as poor as a church mouse. Mild, you know, and boon. Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. She became angry with herself.
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