“Hotel Ritz,” he said mechanically to the coachman. Then I threw a bucket of dirty water on his face and said, ‘Listen, asshole, let’s get one thing straight. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. He could not permit her to remain in that position. A little love from him would be enough. Sir John followed her gaze, and also saw them.
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