“I remember hearing something about it. I’M shaken. What does it matter? I am not a pauper, Annabel. 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. When they reached her rooms she stepped lightly out upon the pavement.
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