. Kimble was clearly a plain-spoken fellow. “Let me see,” he said. 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. F. His obtuse hands punched and jabbed at her uselessly, then he throttled her neck with the last of his strength. Was not Gerald altogether on her side? He was, even though he played games like an imbecile, a person tout à fait sympathique as she had discovered at the outset. “It’s like this,” he said, and dragged a stool beside her and sat down with his elbow four inches from hers and made a sketch.
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