“I confess it. 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. But what can we do? Here am I, fixed to respectability and this laboratory; you’re living at home. "That would be certain destruction. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. " "That likeness is the chief cause of my misery," replied the widow, shuddering.
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