” “I cannot let you go on,” Ennison interrupted. Her recent attitude towards him was undoubtedly a pose. Coming from the gloom of the passage, even the corridors seemed sufficiently illuminated for them to see their way. "No, I won't hear you, murderer," rejoined Wood. 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. No, I thank you. He couldn't be in better hands than those in which he has placed himself.
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