What hotel should she go to? If she told a cabman to drive to an hotel, any hotel, what would he do—or say? He might drive to something dreadfully expensive, and not at all the quiet sort of thing she required. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. “Women are mocked,” she said. ” The men at the reporter’s table lifted their eyebrows, smiled faintly, and leaned back to watch how she took her scolding. "Has he escaped?" asked the thief-taker, faintly.
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