’ The lady’s face came round, a puzzled frown on her brow. 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. "Hush!" she said. ‘To find what?’ demanded Gerald. "We're all damaged—we've all got broken pates," cried a dozen voices.
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