What had urged her to wrench loose and fly was the guarding instinct of the good woman. 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. Ann Veronica felt no repulsion at the prospect. One with the appearance of a bald little gnome yawned agonizingly. His hand rested heavily and cruelly upon Ruth's shoulder.
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