Bring me food, a man, hurry!” She placed the stone back over the crypt to hide the evidence of what she had uncovered. 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. I can esteem him, regard him; but, love him as he ought to be loved—that I cannot do. She gasped with pain, but she did not release her grip.
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