That knot also would be cut. “Where am I?” he muttered. Perhaps she might never come back to that breakfast-room again. It was an overcast day, albeit not foggy, and the electric light shades glowed warmly, and an Italian waiter with insufficient English took Ramage’s orders, and waited with an appearance of affection. “I’m going to talk of indifferent themes,” said Ramage, a little fussily, “until these interruptions of the service are over.
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