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. I wonder why on earth the curtains are drawn. But we get over it. It isn’t. “Miss Ellicot!” Brendon echoed. From me. It wouldn’t be you. You might tell the truth to some men, but never to him. But I'm sure it's important. Angelina's distress over these mischances was pathetic.
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