And my wife won’t live with me for reasons that I think most women would consider sound. Jack had brought away the bunch of keys which he had taken from Quilt Arnold, but, none of them would open it. 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. Frequently he would take up a box of talc and send a shower down his back, or fill his palms with the powder and rub his face and arms and hands. If nothing else had clinched that, the purse had. ‘What the devil for?’ ‘Messenger,’ Gerald explained. It could not be she who had done this. Melusine’s heart ached for him, but she had to force him on.
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