“You have been very kind to me,” she said. The glass in the windows was broken—the roof unthatched—the walls dilapidated. Acne sprayed her cheeks in a fine red spatter where it intermingled with brown freckles. She turned the gas up in her little sitting-room, and sank wearily into an easy chair. ” “Nor I. I am wondering whether it would not be better to tell your husband everything. I should have thought my note cleared up everything. I burned it. Thankfully only the children were home, so there was no one to take active notice that she had been accompanied on her way home from school. 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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