” “Lady Ferringhall—alone?” Ennison exclaimed. Only your horror of a grandfather insisted on coming with me, so I had to wait for him to be ready and travel at his pace. What our dear mother would say back home I dread to think. “I have not left this apartment myself. ” The talk became more and more inconclusive and exhausting. 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. Sometimes I think I’ll miss them and I start to cry, but I’m ready to have a life of my own.
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