It was no use. "I knew it. ’ ‘That’s just it,’ said Joan Ibstock shamefacedly. But kill me rather than commit this outrage. Roused by the bell tolling for evening service, Jack left the house. 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. The sunshine was brilliant, the air mild.
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