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. Wood, regarding her husband with a glance of vindictive triumph. Lucy was silent. Marvel, in a tone intended to be consolatory. She turned back into the hall. Her body went into spasm.
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