Then Anna spoke more seriously than usual. It’s odd how little I know of him, and of how he feels and what he feels. 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. ‘Flirting, Gerald? A new come-out for you. "Oh!" she gasped. Hopefully. ‘Wait! No time for that.
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