Her fingers were bursting through her gloves, as if to get at once into touch with Ann Veronica. . 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. To compare me to a starving pig. “You don’t know him, Anna,” she said with a little shudder, “or you would not talk like that. All his interest in Ruth, all his care and solicitude, could now be translated into a single word—love.
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