‘Suzanne, if I may say, had also not the choice. . To find the true father at the expense of the beautiful fairy tale Ruth had woven around the woman in the locket was an intolerable thought. But a biddable girl. 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. Lord, what a state I was in! Night after night I sat there, I watched her come in, I watched her go. Time after time he sent Spurlock into this corner or that; but always the boy regained his feet before the murderous boot could reach the mark. In the genuinely dissipated face there was always a suggestion of slyness in ambush, peeping out of the wrinkles around the eyes and the lips.
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