“Don’t you understand? It is I whom you cared for in Paris, not Anna. ’ They passed through a little antechamber, and Melusine sighed with relief as she entered the library next door. We’ll run away together, we’ll elope. And in those days, too, he used to help her mother with her gardening, and hover about her while she stood on the ladder and hammered creepers to the scullery wall. 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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