She put her clothes back on, 118 lipstick smeared all over her face. Then all the embarrassments of the matter flashed in upon her. She asked the inevitable question, the one she knew Michelle was waiting to field like a quarterback anticipating the pass. 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. Wet as he was, he felt if he lay down in the grass, he should perish with cold; while, if he sought a night's lodging in any asylum, his dress, stained with blood and covered with dirt, would infallibly cause him to be secured and delivered into the hands of justice. Wily little devil she is. "An audience might have frightened the birds. She went to her bedroom, but she did not go to bed. Wood's displeasure; and he was the more readily induced to do this, as the conversation began to turn upon his own affairs.
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