He seemed too noisy. “I’m glad you’re all right,” he said, “because we want you to do us a favour. Let your father—if he chooses, leave all his wealth to his adopted son. You are wedged in amongst a crowd, perhaps in the promenade, you lean over the back, you are almost out of sight. And Ritter’s, too, was very amusing and foreign and discreet; a little rambling room with a number of small tables, with red electric light shades and flowers.
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