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. "Hold!" cried Kneebone, flinging down the packets; "they are nothing to me. This is grace I am saying! Oh! my dear! all the joy and weeping of life are mixed in me now and all the gratitude. He went more easily this time.
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