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CHAPTER I. ’ ‘Fancy my old pa thinking you was a French spy. ‘I do not know the word in English. Mr. “I came directly I was disengaged,” Anna answered. These dinners, from their lavish display of ambiguous hors d’oeuvre to their skimpy ices in dishes of frilled paper, with their Chianti flasks and Parmesan dishes and their polyglot waiters and polyglot clientele, were very funny and bright; and she really liked Ramage, and valued his help and advice. Infested by every description of vagabond and miscreant, it was, perhaps, a few degrees worse than the rookery near Saint Giles's and the desperate neighbourhood of Saffron Hill in our own time. ” “I know,” said Manning, nodding gravely. .

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