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. A white man, wandering about the streets of Canton at night, was a challenge to such a catastrophe. His hand shook so violently that he dropped the handkerchief; and he let it lie on the floor because he dared not stoop.
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