Daily contact with actual human beings all the more inclined her toward the imaginative. ‘Moreover, no one will believe any more that Yolande is me when they see this. Talked about his years, his position and his constituents, and always sneaked off back to his hotel just when the fun was going to begin. 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. Elegant, a little scornful, she leaned slightly against the back of a chair and looked him steadily in the eyes.
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