If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. 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. You will survive, mark my words. Sometimes a whole morning would pass without Spurlock uttering a word beyond the request for a drink of water. “Exceptionally so. . She felt that there was a hidden meaning under his words.
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