The Damsel - Chapter 7 On The Pavement

Fyne called upon me to admit that this was pretty cool--considering. And
there was another thing, too. It seems that for the last six months (she
had been assisting two ladies who kept a kindergarten school in
Bayswater--a mere pittance), Flora had insisted on devoting all her spare
time to the study of the trial. She had been looking up files of old
newspapers, and working herself up into a state of indignation with what
she called the injustice and the hypocrisy of the prosecution. Her
father, Fyne reminded me, had made some palpable hits in his answers in
Court, and she had fastened on them triumphantly. She had reached the
conclusion of her father's innocence, and had been brooding over it. Mrs.
Fyne had pointed out to him the danger of this.

The train ran into the station and Fyne, jumping out directly it came to
a standstill, seemed glad to cut short the conversation. We walked in
silence a little way, boarded a bus, then walked again. I don't suppose
that since the days of his childhood, when surely he was taken to see the
Tower, he had been once east of Temple Bar. He looked about him
sullenly; and when I pointed out in the distance the rounded front of the
Eastern Hotel at the bifurcation of two very broad, mean, shabby
thoroughfares, rising like a grey stucco tower above the lowly roofs of
the dirty-yellow, two-storey houses, he only grunted disapprovingly.