" And, followed by Abraham, he rushed out of the room. He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. 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 find you excessively rude. The Wastrel, his eyes full of humorous evil, stood inside the room. Forgive me.
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