” “Call it what you like,” Anna answered. My death, probably. “Come this way,” he said. ” Michelle continued on as if uninterrupted. 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 sent a message straight. The dress was her mother's, and she was wearing it to save a little extra money. Lucy snatched it up and put it in her pack.
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