“I was in the bath. In the better hotels there is always a telephone by the bath—the sense of importance of those who soak in the provided scented foam being thereby increased. ‘Look, I am the sort of person who is always in demand—always! Why, I can’t even take a bath without being pestered for my time and attention. I’ll come to your hotel again, and tell all my friends.’ And I said, ‘Ask her to come up,’ without thinking too much about it. It might have been my colleague Ann—who knew my where...abouts—or even my editor, come to congratulate me on the first pages of Lover at the Gate which I had faxed through from the hotel’s secretariat—or even Sophie, come to apologize, though I hardly imagined she had been promoted from child to lady in the few weeks of my absence. And I stepped out of the bath and wrapped myself in one of the big white towels in which these places specialize, and, with an innocence born no doubt of the habit of the past, opened the door. A small indeterminate woman in a lightly belted black raincoat slipped in past me: she had wispy fair hair and I could see at once from whence the twins had inherited what I can only describe, as their nebulousness—a sense of the nebulae or star cluster that is better seen out of the corner of the eye.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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