She rested for a half hour in heaven on earth, feeling herself drift in and out of sleep. 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. Beneath the serene unconcern of Ann Veronica’s face was a boiling tumult. “Please forgive me—for one moment,” she sobbed.
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