She was not quite clear how she should find it, but she felt she would. Groping their way through one or two dark and mouldy-smelling vaults, the party ascended a flight of steps, which brought them to the hall. The clerk at the Raffles Hotel had accorded her but scant interest. "Do you realize that you are several kinds of a damned scoundrel?" he began. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. “I should love to come. The nuns wore their habit, and said all their offices, and went about their tasks unobtrusively, relieving the poor and needy and tending the sick.
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