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 did not matter that he wore the cloth; something was wrong with him. He—he has rather a poor opinion of his contemporaries. It was not the type of household where one could come and go at all hours, for this she was glad. ‘I don’t know that I dare. She was feeling extraordinarily well that night, so that the sense of her body was a deep delight, a realization of a gentle warmth and strength and elastic firmness. She stumbled through a thorny copse, her slippers sliding on patches of sand that gave way to rock. For a while he threatened her. She could tell that he was furious in that instant. ” “Isn’t it. I said I knew he disliked and distrusted you and your work—that you shared all Russell’s opinions: he hates Russell beyond measure—and that we couldn’t possibly face a conventional marriage. They were both dressed in every respect alike.
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