He insisted once again on opening the car door for her. Well, let's beat it to the hotel. . ” His arms were around her. “Even Katy Pfister can’t touch you now. 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. She patted John's head with her palm, its surface appealingly fuzzy. For every Eden, there will be a serpent; for every sheepfold, there will be a wolf.
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