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. He walked hastily to the side of the broad pavement and summoned a fiacre. The beautiful city that she had been awed by and even grown to love had been abandoned. As her belly swelled, so did he. Nevertheless Sydney, clumsily, but earnestly, had something to say about it. She could not judge its direction, and began to move swiftly along the bookshelves, her hand running behind her across the spines of the calfbound volumes. Chairs were overturned.
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