" "Blueskin, clear the room," cried the Master; "these gentlemen would be private. Open that bottle with a blue seal, my dear. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. But I see now. 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. The militia offered little in the way of relief.
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