Ennison roused himself with an effort, took a long drink from his whisky and soda, and lit a cigarette. He could remember when women laid away their gowns in lavender—as this girl's mother had. . Will you marry me?” Anna looked at him in blank amazement. 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.
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