The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. 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. Wood; but they never come now.
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