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. “Of course, I remember now. She was practically an outcast, she had not even the ghost of a plan as to her future, and she had something less than five pounds in her pocket.
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