“One can talk without undertones, so to speak,” said Ramage. Her companion was a portly handsome man, also dressed in a full suit of the deepest mourning, with the finest of lace at his bosom and wrists, and a sword in a black sheath by his side. His shoulders were bent, his face was furrowed with wrinkles. So he made merry at the dinner table, told comic stories, and was astonished at the readiness with which she grasped the comic side of life.
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