“Your little flag of pride must flutter down with the rest of them, Ann Veronica. 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. My uterus and my ovaries are gone. He is big and powerful; one of those drinkers who show it but little outwardly. I believed that our marriage was genuine. Fruit trees had been brought all the way from India so their product could be laden on the wedding table, fruits with exotic shapes and haunting flavors ended the meal, cleansing the palate.
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