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. Occasionally the canvas snapped as the wind veered slightly. Scarcely any one noticed the full measure of her consternation. Giles's church, the bell of which continued tolling all the time, passed the pound, and entered Oxford Road, or, as it was then not unfrequently termed, Tyburn Road. She looked at him confusedly, his black hair glinting under the dim lights. "Without proper medical care, he would have been dead by morning.
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