“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. Ruth hugged the envelope and McClintock, with the end of a burnt match, drew a cabalistic sign. Take them, and may they prove as serviceable to you as I desire. But she did not believe he would do that. They sat down in a covered pavilion that housed a grimy picnic table and a dingy fire pit. From thoughts of fame to thoughts of mere bread and butter! It seemed to Spurlock that he had tumbled off the edge of Somewhere into the abyss of Nowhere.
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