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. ‘Do you think I could endure to hear you prattling your abominable French in my ear day by day? Enough to drive me straight into my grave. Her aunt went off at a tangent. He was sitting back from the table now, with one arm over the back of his green chair and the other resting on the little table. . "Here's a cross-bite.
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