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She wanted colour and there was colour. She wanted Greek
columns in a Chinese pagoda and they were there. The house was like a
temple built by a crazy architect to a crazy godand every stick and stone in
it was a fanatic's offering.
The old woman jerked her head and stood aside. Her toil-worn face with
the melancholy monkey eyes was inscrutablebut Stonehouse guessed at
the swift analysis he was undergoing. In his iron temper he could afford to
be amused.
Mademoiselle is within.
The room was a huge square. To make ittwo floors at least of the
respectable Kensington house must have been sacrificed. The walls were
decorated with Egyptian frescoes and Chinese embroideriesand silk
divans which might have figured in a cinema producer's idea of a Turkish
harem were set haphazard on the mosaic floor. In the centre a stone
fountain of the modern-primitive school and banked with flowers splashed
noisily. Somehow it offered Kensington the final insult. But she had wanted
itjust as she had wanted the Greek columns. There was even a certain
magnificence about the room's absurdity. It was so hopelessly wrong that it
attained a kind of perfection.
She herself sat on the edge of the fountain and fed a gorgeous macaw w [link widoczny dla zalogowanych]yilai:
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