‘I should have thought it was obvious. 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. She closed her eyes as if asleep, her hands folded neatly on her abdomen. I only wish he was not a Papist and a Jacobite. It was Jack, wasn’t it?’ ‘Aye, s-sir. . Such pretty manners, she thought.
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