There were mysterious rustlings that made him glance hopefully toward the sea. They were silent for a time. 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. And I’d do it again for you if needs be. He held her hand in his, cupped together like a pair of shells for the rest of the hour.
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