Jane was a smoldering auburn-haired Irish beauty who seldom spoke to anyone. “I didn’t blow up the house. “I do hope you will see how things are, and not be offended with me or frightfully shocked and distressed by what I have done. 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.
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