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The clerk at the Raffles Hotel had accorded her but scant interest. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. ” He scarcely saw her face again. He would get very cross one evening and no one would dare to remind him of it. The Plague raced through the city and the Palazzo, consuming it like fire. She followed him about persistently, and succeeded, after a brisk, unchivalrous struggle (in which he pinched and asked her to “cheese it”), in kissing him among the raspberries behind the greenhouse. 1. It was the grand nursery of vice.
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