“Lady Ferringhall, sir. These sham ideals and advanced notions. I want my freedom. ” Sir John was speechless. 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. “Lucy, that’s horrible. If the creator drew a hero anything like himself, she would accept it as a sign that he did care a little.
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