Keeping hold of the doorhandle, she turned slowly. "Friday!" echoed Mrs. " There was a pause. ‘Now what?’ The girl’s voice was shaking, and there were, he saw now, angry tears in her eyes. 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.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjExOC4yNTIuNjYgLSAwMi0wNi0yMDI0IDAwOjE1OjIwIC0gMjEwNzQwODQzMA==
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