“Where to?” he asked, as the hansom drove up. Slipshod; follow me. There were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets. “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. "You will find it true," replied Blueskin.
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