Here Jack Sheppard was unable to repress an exclamation of astonishment. They went into Michelle's tiny bedroom, bare except for a dresser, a closet, and a miniscule single bed that resembled her own at the Becks. "Ay, indeed! And who may that be?" inquired his wife. 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.
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