Dizziness overcame him like anesthetic and he slept. 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. The young man had knocked over the siphon. She carried herself well, whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws. ‘My God!’ he said, ‘I’ll go after them and kill him. The streets were deserted as they drove past familiar sites. Too easily roused emotions and too little passion. Let your father—if he chooses, leave all his wealth to his adopted son. ” She smiled.
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