“Hotel Ritz,” he said mechanically to the coachman. ‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’ ‘Let me alone, man,’ Gerald muttered under his breath. ‘Get the swords!’ ‘I’ll see to him. As he entered the shop, a tall portly personage advanced to meet him, whom he at once recognised as the present proprietor. “Of course. “It was your own fault,” she exclaimed. .
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