“I’ve been looking out for you,” he said. He went in and leaned, panting, against one wall. “Fred,” he said, “do you remember taking me to dinner at the ‘Ambassador’s,’ one evening last September, to meet a girl who was singing there? Hamilton and Drummond and his lot were with us. What the devil is the matter, Dunster?” “I beg your pardon, sir,” the man answered, “there is a lady here to see you. “But what can one do?” asked Ann Veronica.
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