I had left Paris. The young lady—if she had come in here at all—had vanished. 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. It was just as easy to pretend she was watching one when she was actually watching the other. A minute pressure inwards showed him that it was not locked.
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