In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. ” He spoke a little nervously. ‘You know pretty much everything you need to know. She forced herself not to think of John. Why don’t I just go and get the key from Pottiswick?’ Alderley flicked a glance back at him over his shoulder. “I wonder what he takes me for?” When presently she got down from the stile a certain note of internal conflict, a touch of doubt, had gone from her warm-tinted face. 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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