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. It was the one that she had sworn she’d throw out, if only Julian had not liked it so much. They did not spend most days together. " "Sir Rowland is my brother," resumed Lady Trafford coldly. \" 49 She greeted him as he scanned her from head to toe, absorbing the lines of her figure as he was doing systematically with every other female in the parking lot. “Much as I hate rows, I’ve either got to make a stand or give in altogether.
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