I swore to hang you two years ago, but I deferred my purpose. The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping. He paused at the bamboo curtain of her room, which was in semi-darkness. The solos were revealing, sensual and moody. 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. "A mother's prayers—a mother's blessings," she cried, with the fervour almost of inspiration, "will avail against a fiend's malice.
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