It was a mass of knick-knacks. I have suffered—I have sinned—I have repented. The soi-disant Valade held the centre of the room now, only an uncovered but closed card-table, its surface dusty, between him and the suite at the fireplace. The months that followed September spiraled downward. “I propose,” Sir John said, “that we pay for our dinner—which we haven’t had— tip the garçon a sovereign, and take a cab to the Ritz.
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