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. She was not afraid exactly, but there was that about her loneliness to-night she distrusted. Michelle’s eyes widened. “If you were to ask me,” he would say, “I should say Blinders is straight. You come with those clear eyes of yours, as valiant as an angel.
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