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. She had resisted as long as she could; then she had stolen over. Do you live here?" "Not exactly," answered the carpenter. Others pulled hats over their noses, cowered in their seats, and feigned that all was right with the world. "Egad!" exclaimed Wood, "you've hit the right nail on the head, anyhow.
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