“I suppose,” said her father, “I have read at least half the novels that have been at all successful during the last twenty years. From me. It was an overcast day, albeit not foggy, and the electric light shades glowed warmly, and an Italian waiter with insufficient English took Ramage’s orders, and waited with an appearance of affection. Marina doted over her pregnant daughter, adorned in fine brocades, reassuring her that it was certain to be a either a baby boy or a girl of such great beauty she would eclipse them both.
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