’ A faint smile crossed Gerald’s lips. ” So they went this time to the Rococo, in Germain Street, and up-stairs to a landing upon which stood a bald-headed waiter with whiskers like a French admiral and discretion beyond all limits in his manner. Double-crossing wouldn't do any good. He confided to me that he felt trapped in his marriage, that he was being ruined by fate. Somehow her walk home with him had been transmogrified into a melodramatic rejection, a slamming.
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