Sheila bellowed, a great wail of a sound from deep in her belly, flinging her tremendous weight towards him. ” Her mind diverged to other aspects, and another type of womanhood. She entered the front hall, formerly magnificent, now faded and dusty, the old wood table waiting for guests who would never come. 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. “Then what did you do?” Lucy’s eyes leveled with her. Men and women are not established things; they’re experiments, all of them. Her heart swelled to suffocation. And now, my love," she added, with a relenting look, "I'm content to make up our quarrel.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQ0LjE3Mi4xODAgLSAxMC0wNi0yMDI0IDA4OjUxOjAxIC0gMTkzNDk4MzUyNw==
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