” Sebastian snorted. She was in one of her old walking-dresses, her hair was done in an unfamiliar manner, she wore a wedding-ring, and she looked as if she had been crying. ‘Melusine was making herself mistress of them when we met. 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. Manning’s proposal of marriage. Young, not much older than she was: she was twenty and he was possibly twenty-four. It took my breath away.
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