—"Oh! about that boy, Thames Darrell. “I always get off here and lean over that rail for a bit. He took Diane out. Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel. Shall we say at half-past seven?” She rose from her chair.
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