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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. At sight of his wan features, she forgot the urgency of her need for a moment, and fell to her knees at his bedside, placing her hands on his slack ones where they lay on the soiled coverlet. His shoulders were bent, his face was furrowed with wrinkles. ‘In love? I? Don’t be ridiculous.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 30-09-2024 21:28:17