"I haven't quite recovered the fright I got in the Vell-Hole," replied Abraham. You would steal from me then the only man I ever cared a snap of the fingers about. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. That's the kind, my friend, that always fall soft. 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. ’ He glanced at Roding.
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