Later, she understood his reasons; and it had now become habit. 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. ‘You were supposed to be nursing him,’ Martha grumbled, ‘and helping him convalesce. I told her I was sick today and she told me to get over myself. You shall not take me alive. Clotilde’s stunning green eyes were reflected in the gazes of the tender young children, but their faces had been hollow and sunken, their hair matted, and their clothing in bad need of repair.
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