"He's not to blame," said Jack, rising. She wore a wonderful dress of turquoise blue, made by a great dressmaker for a function which she knew very well now that she would never attend. 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. Especially when they wear cologne. “Great Scott!” he exclaimed huskily. I don’t want to hear you. I wanted the magic of love. “Heavens, look at the time!” she exclaimed.
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