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. “Did you—did you really think that they would take you for a Frenchman?” she exclaimed. He had informed her that to leave him would be a choice to live a life of meager subsistence. She wanted him, she needed sex, but the two ideas had not formed an equation where a concrete result could be deduced. It was the sing-song girl idea, magnified many diameters. ” With a little crash the pistol fell from her shaking fingers. “I want a plain word with you about all this. The manager twisted his moustache.
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