Further on, there was a small chandler's shop, where Jack observed an old woman seated at the counter, attended by a little girl. Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness. 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.
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