"O, Lord!" ejaculated Wood. His little doll. 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. "See how glad he is!" His irony and displeasure subsided. Wood, ironically; "but I used to think it required something more than mere words to prove that a person's character was abused. " "There was Father," suggested Angelina gently.
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