The etiquette of a goodbye is always tricky, even more so if you’re of a British disposition. Even @Debretts1789 - the go to guide to navigating the most perplexing of social situations for the well-heeled now offers a guide on the aftermath of a night of passion (basically ‘steel yourself and hold your head up high’ no matter what). They stood on the steps of the hotel each waiting for a cab to take them their separate ways. As the driver pulled up beside them. He squeezed her hand and gave her one last kiss. He stoked her cheek and said ‘I’ll call you’ before opening the door and ushering her in. As the door closed she crashed back onto the soft leather as the cab sped north of the river towards her tiny flat. Opening her front door she felt like she’d entered another universe. She made a cup of coffee and watched the dust dance across her windows in the early morning light, the peeling paint a far cry from the grand hotel room she'd just left. She ached all over and felt raw… in the space of one night she had exposed nearly every inch of her body and soul to a complete stranger and yet now she was back in her own room as she was every morning, searching for something clean to wear to work and wondering what the day would bring. She smiled to herself at the incredible night she had experienced, feeling a sense of deep contentment and almost relief that it was now over, that it could stay contained as a completely perfect moment in time.
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