After dinner he would
escort his aunt from the table in some state (not wholly unaccompanied
by a leerish wink or two from the wags of the place) and he would
leave her at the door of the communal parlours and card rooms, with a
formality in his bow of farewell which afforded an amusing contrast to
Fanny's always voluble protests. (She never failed to urge loudly
that he really must come and play, just this once, and not go hiding
from everybody in his room every evening like this!) At least some of
the other inhabitants found the contrast amusing, for sometimes, as he
departed stiffly toward the elevator, leaving her still entreating in
the doorway (though with one eye already on her table, to see that it
was not seized) a titter would follow him which he was no doubt meant
to hear. He did not care whether they laughed or not.
And once, as he passed the one or two young men of the place
entertaining the three or four young women, who were elbowing and
jerking on a settee in the lobby, he heard a voice inquiring quickly,
as he passed:
"What makes people tired?"
"Work?"
"No.
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