“Hotel Ritz,” he said mechanically to the coachman. ‘Now then, my lad, you’re under arrest you are. He must preserve it, however, as they preserved the Ark of the Covenant. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. Their poor hands!” “I know,” said Mr. "Well, Sir?" cried the other, eagerly. He had, for the most part, been correct. But it means no end of a row.
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