He touched a long-standing sore, and Ann Veronica found herself vainly trying to explain—the inexplicable. 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. “Perhaps,” he said, “I have been to blame. "Hoddy, Hoddy!… No, no! This is my father!" warned Ruth. ‘And how is it that you have acquired this garb of a religieuse?’ he asked as she fitted the veil over her head. At this moment, Davies, who had completed his preparations, extinguished the torch.
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