At the bottom of her heart she was not a bit afraid of Ramage. The lunches were individual affairs: sandwiches, bottled olives and jam commandeered from the Victoria. ‘It is not for myself, you understand,’ pursued the man, in an unctuous tone that sickened the general, ‘but for this poor one. The distinction lay chiefly in the right to pat their heads. What have you got to say?" "Too much," replied Kneebone, shaking his head; "sadly too much. “I suppose some one makes a bit on the food,” she said.
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