Sheppard!" sighed Winifred, as she contemplated the beautiful wreck before her,—"Poor Mrs. Like the parrot, she could memorize the lines, but she could not understand them. His anger gave way to grim humour and he thrust towards them, leaning heavily on his cane. The lunches were individual affairs: sandwiches, bottled olives and jam commandeered from the Victoria. . ” It occurred to her that she had never seen her father dining out before, never watched him critically as an equal.
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