Cheveney was looking after her, I think, then. She went past three keenly observant and ostentatiously preoccupied waiters down the thickcarpeted staircase and out of the Hotel Rococo, that remarkable laboratory of relationships, past a tall porter in blue and crimson, into a cool, clear night. " "Are you man, or fiend?" exclaimed Trenchard, staring at the stranger, as he concluded his narration. “But about last night. He looked at her with an expression of comical despair.
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