The garçon was tipped as he had never been tipped before in his life. ” “I know—” said Ramage, with sympathy. I care not. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door.
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