A distant suggestion of chalets and a glimpse of the road set them talking for a time of the world they had left behind. " "What kind?" "Dickens, Hugo. That is what I’ve had on my conscience. 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. But he would make it a point not to speak again to the girl.
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