shouldn’t be friends. What hotel should she go to? If she told a cabman to drive to an hotel, any hotel, what would he do—or say? He might drive to something dreadfully expensive, and not at all the quiet sort of thing she required. She hesitated in answering the door, her violin still crooked underneath her chin. But if I were dying of thirst, in a desert, I would not accept a cup of water at her hands. She too at once developed an anxious interest in the street outside.
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