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. “What’s that for?” He said. “There is one thing I must concentrate on at the moment,” she told herself, “and that is how to pay my next week’s bill to Mrs. Every slight action is influenced by what he imagines would be the opinion of other people. But that explains everything. "No, I won't hear you, murderer," rejoined Wood.
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