’ He moved to his friend and grasped his hand in a gesture as deliberately dramatic as the storytelling of mademoiselle. This was to pass under the arch, along the narrow ledge of the starling, and, if possible, attain the eastern platform, where, protected by the bridge, he would suffer less from the excessive violence of the gale. “I’d chuck this lark right off if I were you, Vee,” he said. Lucy sat paralyzed, as still as Tiger Lily on the death raft. 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. ‘Where did you get that, miss?’ ‘It is the sword of monsieur le major. He then barred and double-locked the door, took out the key, (a precautionary measure which, with a grim smile, he said he never omitted,) thrust it into his vest, and motioning the couple to follow him, led the way to the inner room.
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