We, ourselves, are scarcely the same we were twelve years ago. She thought of Capes. 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. He regretted now that in his idle hours he hadn't hunted up one against the rainy day.
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