As he crossed the cellar, he passed so near to Jack who had concealed himself behind a piece of furniture that he almost touched him. Her eyes quizzed the major. “Can you not understand? It is of no use your taking my identity and all the burden of my iniquities upon your dear shoulders if I am to be recognized the moment I show my face in London. It is not the woman who speaks there. She tried to imagine the collective effect of the Fadden Ball; she had never seen a fancy-dress gathering in her life. She resumed her on guard position, and glaring steadily at him, waited again. "Get from under it, Jack!" vociferated Thames. 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.
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