It fell to the ground and smoked ominously. The house was eerily silent, which alerted her to the idea that someone might be listening. 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. One day she awoke and he was cavorting about underneath the covers. "No," replied Jack, peremptorily. “You really couldn’t ride in it,” he said, deprecatingly. "My coat!" Ruth did not move but stared astonishedly at the patient.
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