The Hotel St. Georges in Beirut makes the Plaza seem like the railroad YMCA in Youngstown, Ohio. Not from the standpoint of creature compforts, although there sure a hell are those too, but in the intangible qualities of slightly decadent traditional regal condescension. The moment I walked up to the desk clerk in the lobby and he had looked clearly through me, examining my breeding and bank balance on the way, I knew that I was home free. I had felt this same gimlet, the non-committal stare, plenty of places before, and all of a sudden the mysterious East was no longer quite as inscrutable as it had been. He spoke to me in a clear clean voive which sported a peculiar liquid accent that would have bee worth a fortune in class B spy movies...
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