" "I wish I could, Joan," returned the carpenter, sadly. 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 you must. The flicker of an eyelash might betray his presence. It was her figure, her style of dress, her manner of arranging the hair. ‘Kimble, you shouldn’t be here.
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