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Pramlay received them in the pretty chintz drawing-room, which opened by French windows on the trim garden, with its croquet lawn, its tennis-net in the middle distance, and its remote rose alley lined with smart dahlias and flaming sunflowers. “What the devil are you doing star-gazing here?” Ennison looked at him in surprise. She took a shower after a particularly harsh volleyball debacle only to find that her locker had been picked and her outfit of the day, gray sweatpants and a shapeless pink sweater, were gone. Until now none of her prayers had ever been answered. He might solve the riddle. “Of course,” she said diffidently, “this is a boarding-house, although we never take in promiscuous travellers. ” The strain in her face was visible as she tried to remember. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. You don’t wear a dinner coat with a flower in your button-hole, or last night’s shirt, or very glossy boots, nor do you haunt the drawing-room in the evening, or play at being musical. She had arranged for a supper of tea, a boiled egg, and some tinned peaches.
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This video was uploaded to allatseaonline.com on 01-06-2024 09:26:39
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