The procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations, was heard. The wine was sweetened with cinnamon and cloves and rare edible flowers, which her father had instructed her not to drink excessively of. 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. “Yes. Or I should say—’ ‘Eugenia,’ cut in Gerald grimly. "That's odd. I heard rumours of it in Paris, and the place since then has been closed.
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