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. Vanity was a vice not just to be deprecated, but effectively strangled at birth. S. You do not know him. And Mr. The garçon was tipped as he had never been tipped before in his life. “You will come back, won’t you?” He nodded cheerfully. One hour later she had gone back to the mission—without the salt. Before the congregation separated, the clergyman descended from the pulpit; and, followed by the coffin-bearers and mourners, and by Jack at a respectful distance, entered the churchyard.
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