They were familiar but more massive. 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. “It was great, Shari!” She replied the stars still in her eyes. You are right. So, at least, thought one of two persons who were seated together in a small back-parlour of the house at Dollis Hill.
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