” So they went this time to the Rococo, in Germain Street, and up-stairs to a landing upon which stood a bald-headed waiter with whiskers like a French admiral and discretion beyond all limits in his manner. Borne along by the current, Darrell was instantly at the boat's side. ‘Alors, pig!’ she cried and lunged in quarte. . The door was closed— locked,—and the pair were heard descending the stairs.
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