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. They sat in the windowed booth at the restaurant across from each other. Much to my amazement, as soon as I was in her presence I forgot about my magic and thought only of love. “I am sick of it.
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