They did not care— servant or master, it meant nothing. But a far greater affliction was in store for her. 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. Her depression since the “accident” had possessed her, she no longer cared how she looked as her beauty helped her not. She held up the lamp. Tell him about the island, the coconut dance, the wooden tom-toms; read to him.
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