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. For the face under her gaze she could find but one expression—fine. It was nothing like the big church wedding she wanted, but nothing could shame her greater than to have a child out of wedlock. E. They had not to tarry long. She forced herself not to think of John.
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