"Oh God! she is dying," exclaimed Jack in a voice suffocated by emotion. 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. But at this, he halted, turning his frowning gaze back on her. 1. “And what was that dreadful confession you had to make?” he was saying. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack.
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