“Ask me nothing. ‘And then you will be obliged to remain in France,’ she pointed out. Stanley poured wine. She drifted back into the welcoming arms of sleep, feeling herself surrounded in silk. 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. Her aunt went off at a tangent. . "I thought you were asleep.
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