"
He led her over a polished oak floor into a long, almost empty apartment
with turreted windows at each end, and a grand piano near one of them
that shone darkly in the shaded lamplight. Underfoot were Persian rugs,
exquisite of tint and rich of texture. Two or three deep divans completed
the furniture of the room giving it a look of Eastern magnificence that
strangely lured the senses.
"Rather like a harem I always think," said Bunny, pausing to look round.
"There's an Arabian Nights sort of flavour about it that rather gets hold
of one. Why? You're shivering! Surely you're not cold!"
"No, I'm not cold," said Toby. "But I don't like this place. It's creepy.
Let's go!"
But Bunny lingered. "What's the matter with it? It's luxurious enough.
I've always rather liked coming in here."
Toby made a small but vehement gesture of protest. "Then you like horrid
things," she said. "There's no air in here;--only--only--scent."
Bunny sniffed. "Well, it's quite subtle anyhow; not enough to upset
anybody. Rather a seductive perfume, what?"
She surprised him by stamping in sudden fury upon the bare floor.
"It's beastly! It's hateful! How can you like it? It--it--it's bad!
It's--damnable!"
Bunny stared at her.
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