’ ‘What?’ gasped Alderley in shock. 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. Of course he hadn't played the game wisely. Ramage. But Gerald wouldn’t hear of it. ‘Hilary, thank God! Have you a pistol about you? Or better yet, your sword.
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