‘Nothing of the sort,’ argued Gerald. 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. “I would have given up anything to see you your old self again—as you are this evening. ” She rose up. ” She looked into her glass. ‘Monstrously unfair of you, Hilary. ” She distantly remembered moments in childhood spent in phobic trance, when her father had told her God was punishing sinners in Hell.
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