Filled as he was with conflicting emotions, any stretch of silence would be dangerous. She was alone, and the mask of her unchanging high spirits was for the moment laid aside. 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 can.
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