But you are Annabel. Old thoughts, old feelings, old faces, and old scenes have returned to me, and I have fancied myself happy,—as happy as I am now. One Friday afternoon, in this pleasant month, it chanced that Mr. I want you to understand clearly that I was indebted to the man in many small ways. 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. What you’re after is too risky. Clotilde rushed out of the house, carrying her boy and tugging her girl by the ear.
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