And yet she knew it was not fair to call her a foolish girl. “Quite right,” she said. 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. “I do not wish to make impertinent inquiries into your private life. We men are like children. “I suppose you’ll come to the point soon—if there is one. ” “But I didn’t lose it that way, did I?” She grew hysterical. God, Lucy, what’s it been, how many years?” “I’m so sorry, John. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound. She helped Jack to sit down, and dragged the jacket off him, lifting his shirt to expose the gash that had sliced across his side.
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