Sheila pounded the kitchen table, causing the bell jar with the silk flowers to tip over and roll to the floor. She would be in the library, her favorite place, or on the bench by the colored glass window with her embroidery. He was ruffled, and his ears were red, no doubt from some adjacent controversy. Besides, it was under false pretences. "Call as you please, beloved girl," he cried, "I will not stir till I am answered. Figg, the noted prize-fighter, from the New Amphitheatre in Marylebone Fields.
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