Probably something he had eaten. Anna was singing as she used to sing. He was wrapped in a laced roquelaure, which he threw off on his entrance into the room. “Hotel Ritz,” he said mechanically to the coachman. Also she had tried him as a dragoman and as a gendarme, which seemed the most suitable of all to his severely handsome, immobile profile. The library was on the ground floor, Melusine recalled from the previous visit, for she had searched through a desk in a room filled with bookshelves of leatherbound volumes. They were talking of “Alcide,” as they often did in those days.
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