” She lied. The clerk at the Raffles Hotel had accorded her but scant interest. “I’ve plenty of pals,” he said, “who, when they’ve been doing Paris on the Q. . You’ll have to find someone else. Who knows?—on the analogy of “Squiggles” she might come to call him “Mangles!” “I don’t think I can ever marry any one,” she said, and fell suddenly into another set of considerations that perplexed her for a time. Husbands and wives, young lovers, and mothers with strollers thronged in the streets, all savoring the fine cool weather. There was none. He got up brusquely. ‘You can’t go to England. ’ She spread her hands. The condition of the rooms was indescribably filthy and disgusting; nor were the habits of the occupants much more cleanly.
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