She had not at first the power for concealment. Her voice was soft and singularly musical; but from time to time she uttered old-fashioned words which forced him to grope mentally. 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.
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