All he will say is that she said so—as if anyone could believe a word the girl said. 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. Why had she married him, off-hand, like that? She did not love him, or he knew nothing of love signs. "For what?" "I had the paper with me.
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