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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. It had been brighter
than the rest, for dawn light had come in through high unshuttered casements
above the bookshelves. Wood, now more buxom and more gorgeously arrayed
than ever,—as well as a young and beautiful female, in whom he was at no loss
to recognise the carpenter's daughter. But when she turned her thoughts to Morningside Park she perceived the
tangled skein of life was now to be further complicated by his romantic
importunity. . \"
\"Nah, he's probably a cool guy, seems laid back
enough. “I hope you will not compel me to
say again that I do not know the man’s name, nor, to the best of my belief, have I
ever seen him before in my life. ” She cried
once they were in the great room. Apparently she was always doomed to weep when
she talked to her father. Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its
creases, and beheld a portrait of himself.
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This video was uploaded to flood-rescue.com on 07-07-2024 07:09:30