He picks up a knife, hefts it; tosses and catches it; and then hurls it across the room. There is an agonised squeak. The Cheery Man watches its struggles with professional interest. "She's nothing to me," he says.
...she's his daughter. He's just drunk enough to talk about her with a sort of distant, cautious affection, . "She let me down," he says, . "I'm not a bad sort, am I? It's just an 'ard business. She used to understand that."
