“Hotel Ritz,” he said mechanically to the coachman. But when they were on their way out he whispered in Anna’s ear. The red glare fell upon the slimy brick-work, and tinged the inky waters below. In the obscurity in which it was now seen, it looked like a prison, and, indeed, it was Jonathan's fancy to make it resemble one as much as possible. “To begin with, I was—I was in the divorce court. .
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