’ Charvill eyed the girl with resentment. 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. “But I don’t see,” said Ann Veronica, “just how it fits the present situation. He hated the taste of it.
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