"By Heaven!" cried Darrell, "it is the poor fellow whom I placed in such jeopardy a short time ago. She woke up choking and belching water. 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. “He is Annabel’s husband,” she reminded him.
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