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. “You’re—I don’t know,” said Ann Veronica. I never forgive an injury. "I am coming to the point, Joan. The horns were the worst, slipping in and out of tune and rushing the easy sections, fighting everyone else.
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