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. "Don't scourge me," she cried, trying to hide herself in the farthest corner of the cell. And as for not knowing me, you abominable little liar, you’re perfectly aware that we met at Remenham House. She went to the post-office and drew out and sent off her money to Ramage. ‘I escape from a fate entirely misérable, you understand.
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