“My dear Miss Stanley, when I talked to you the other afternoon of work and politics and such-like things, my mind was all the time resenting it beyond measure. 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. “Now I should like to know,” she said, looking at him with a quiet smile, “what you are doing here? It is not a particularly inspiring neighbourhood for walking about by yourself. She rehearsed the story of her forlorn long lost mother in her head, what she would say to the theorymongers. ” He stared at her, trying to guess at the mystery of her thoughts. ’ The girl glanced up the road and turned back, annoyance in her face. \"No, what?\" She said.
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