"What's that to you?" retorted Jack, surlily. “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. This is a joke of yours. Lucy slipped upstairs silently. ” He held out his hand obediently. Your name. A slight rain fell at the time; and a few leaves, caught by the eddies, whirled around. We dine at seven-thirty.
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